


Twelve Moons

by LarasLandlockedBlues



Series: Just Say Lass [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Avvar, Avvar, Avvar Abigail Henderson, Avvar Cullen Rutherford, Avvar Culture and Customs, Avvar Evelyn, Avvar Rylen, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Captured Bride, Claiming, Consensual Kidnapping, Cullen is Thane, Denial of Feelings, Domestic Fluff, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Feels, Family Fluff, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, From Sex to Love, Getting to Know Each Other, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Language Barrier, Light Angst, Light Bondage, Loud Sex, Mating Rituals, Minor Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Ok "Trevelyan" it's just Evelyn, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Original Female Character, POV Rylen (Dragon Age), Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Possessive Sex, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Slow Build, Smut, bondmates, fast burn, occasionally
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2019-09-12 08:43:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 57,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16869793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LarasLandlockedBlues/pseuds/LarasLandlockedBlues
Summary: It starts at a hunt, with a pretty lass who catches his eye when no others have in longer than he can remember.It continues as an arrangement, at everyone else's insistent encouragement - and more desire than he'd actually admit aloud.In twelve moons it ends - or does it truly begin?





	1. The Hunt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kagetsukai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kagetsukai/gifts).



> Dedicated to my dear friend ~~and enabler~~ whose encouragement and support led to me actually taking a stab at writing Avvar Abigail/Rylen. You already know this is ~~your fault~~ due to all our lovely chats, so it feels fitting you get its dedication as well. Love you, bitch.
> 
> Also many thanks to [ShannaraIsles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShannaraIsles/pseuds/ShannaraIsles) for being such a helpful, amazing friend, and her lovely fic [Kindled](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12279315) for serving as a fantastic reference. If you haven't read it, you should - it's absolutely wonderful. Thank you darling for everything!
> 
> Translations will be handled in end notes. I try to provide enough context you can pick up on the gist, but just in case you're curious of the meaning of the Gaelic endearments I'm using I'll post them at the end of each chapter in which they appear.
> 
> xx,  
> Lara

The biggest concern wasn’t scaring the prey away, it was causing it to charge before they were ready. Careful footsteps were necessary across the moss covered, rocky path, avoiding twigs and needles that had fallen from the trees, dried leaves softened by the morning’s rain. Even still, Rylen found himself holding his breath, and he held up a fist for those who followed behind him.

He’d finally spotted the beast, delighted when he saw two smaller ones not far beyond it. Glancing over his shoulder at the hunters who followed him, he made silent gestures, directing them to easily surround the large beasts in the clearing from behind the thicket of trees. Further to his right he could see the other man leading his small group to do the same, getting his archers and hunters into position. When they caught one another’s eye they took a moment and then nodded in unison.

Two roars shattered the silence and were followed by more as the hunters all sprinted forward, weapons raised and ready.

The druffalo in the clearing seemed to freeze for a moment, and then let out their own battle cries as they reared. Rylen realized as they charged forward that it had to be a mother and two calves, and the mother was readying herself for the fight of a lifetime. He was more than happy to give it to her.

It was the first hunt with the northern tribe, but the Thane had decided it was a chance at better relations and a better start to the winter. As Rylen fought side by side with the hunters wearing black and white face paint, he found himself glad they had all agreed with the Thane's wisdom. In hardly any time at all the calves had been slain, quickly and cleanly - mercifully, with soft thanks muttered to the gods before attention was turned to the bleating, rampaging mother.

Tightening his grip on his large broadsword, Rylen charged forward, intending to draw the beast’s focus to give the archers ample opportunity to take their shots. When his roar and charge was met with a desperate cry of rage from the druffalo, he braced his legs apart and raised his weapon before himself. The horns of the beast made contact, and he felt his feet slide on the leaves and rocks beneath them as he tried to hold his ground.

Her attention thus diverted to Rylen alone, the other hunters charged forward and attacked. Arrows flew past him, and whimpering bleats of pain heralded each successful strike. The strain of holding the beast back with his sword lessened as it began to go limp. One last whistle of an arrow from somewhere behind Rylen, and a soft _squish_ as it found its home in the eye of the beast.

And finally, she collapsed.

For a moment, panting breaths and creaking hide armor were the only sounds in the clearing as they all checked their surroundings. Soft murmurs of thanks to the gods and words to one another began to grow into cheers of celebration. Rylen smiled, taking a moment to make certain his hunters were uninjured.

“AHH!”

The sudden cry sounded from behind him, and he spun, raising his sword once more.

One of the archers was tumbling away from the tree she had hidden behind, rolling off the boulder she had been perched on as they assaulted their prey. It only took Rylen a moment to register the large brown bear roaring and trying to swipe its monstrous paw after the archer - only she’d been too quick and had managed to slip away.

The hunters in the clearing all turned to face the commotion as well, raising their weapons once more to ready themselves. The archer who had tumbled off the boulder rolled and pushed herself to her knees, drawing her bow and releasing an arrow almost as soon as she skidded to a halt. Her attack caught the bear on its neck, grazing it and causing it to roar before it charged forward.

“Damn!” the archer cried, but she hurried to pull another arrow from her quiver.

Rylen and the other hunters readied battle cries and weapons once more, hurrying forward. Bears were not their normal prey, and it pained Rylen to have to slay something so majestic and sacred to his people - but the bear had attacked them, and didn’t seem likely to back off. Perhaps they had taken its prey, or encroached on its territory. Whatever the cause, Rylen refused to lose any hunters - no matter their clan - to it.

Raising his weapon once more he let out a cry as he charged forward, again intending to draw the beast’s attention. Hunters circled it, trying to wait until they weren’t in danger of its claws or teeth before they attempted a lunge. Archers called to one another as they moved through the trees, hoping to get a clear shot.

Not damaging the pelt too much was a concern to be considered. Rylen’s eyes moved quickly over the growling bear as he looked for an opening that wouldn’t ruin their prize and yet still give it the quick, clean death it deserved. The bear reared, gigantic paws clawing the air as it tried to intimidate the hunters surrounding it. The circling hunters beat their hide-covered bucklers with their weapons, swung their large swords, mauls, and axes, and let out bellows to disorient and distract the beast.

It finally lunged, charging the hunter to Rylen’s right, and he took the opportunity to swing his broadsword in a swift attempt to slice its neck. He hit his mark, though not as deeply as he would have liked, and the bear shuddered and lurched.

Two arrows whistled past Rylen, one striking below Rylen’s sword buried in the thick neck, the other catching the roaring beast in its mouth, the tip finding its way out of the back of its skull. With one last heaving, gurgling sigh the brown bear staggered and slumped to its side, its eyes going glassy.

Pulling his sword from where it was lodged in the beast, Rylen glanced over his shoulder to see which archer had landed such beautiful shots to fell their prey. The archer the bear had surprised was smiling brightly, bow still poised from how she had released the fatal blows. Slowly she lowered her longbow and stood, absently dusting off and straightening the layers of fur and hide armor she was wearing.

Her hair was dark, gathered in several braids that cascaded around her shoulders and down her back. She was rather petite, though she stood tall and proud as if challenging those around her to doubt her abilities because of her slight frame. The black war paint around her eyes looked almost as if she had trailed it from the center of her forehead to cover her eyes and out, smudged and careless almost in its application. Another line of dark paint created a divide down the center of her nose, her full lips, and her chin, though this was also smudged as if she’d hastily dragged her fingers down her face.

For a moment she stared at the beast she had taken down and then she nodded once before she slung her bow across herself. She approached another hunter, reaching out to their shoulder to check if they were all right, then giggled when they congratulated her on her arrows finding their mark.

“Shall we begin?” a deep voice said from beside him, and he finally tore his gaze away from the archer who was brushing her braids over her shoulders.

Mael, the hunter from the other tribe who had been leading their group, stood beside Rylen, removing his dagger from his belt as he gestured at their spoils. Rylen nodded as he wiped his sword off and sheathed it on his back before gesturing the other hunters he led to get to work.

Both groups began to prepare their prizes for transport, several hurrying off to gather the wagons they had left further back as they approached their prey. As Rylen circled the bear and checked its prone form, a glint caught his eye and he walked over toward the base of a tree. A dagger was lying half-sheathed in a worn leather scabbard, and he realized the tree was the one the archer had been hiding behind before the bear snuck up on her.

He picked up the blade and sheathed it, holding it as he looked around for its owner. She was helping the other hunters lift the calves onto the wagons, using rope to tie their haul securely to the wooden transport. With a smirk he made his way closer, wandering through the working hunters of both tribes. He stopped and gave a few directions, checking to make certain his people were all right as he passed, but then he continued to cross the clearing.

“Here, Abi, that should be secure enough,” one of the hunters told the archer.

“Let me - wait,” she said, and her hands searched along her belt as her gaze wandered over the ground around her. “Where’s my -”

“Missing something, lass?” Rylen asked, stopping beside her at the wagon. He held up the dagger and leather scabbard in his hand, raising an eyebrow as he watched her eyes snap up to his.

“I - my - it must have fallen off when the bear scared me shitless,” she murmured, reaching up for the dagger.

Rylen held it out of her reach, frowning as he studied it closely, as if trying to unlock some secret that it held. “Are you certain, lass? This is your dagger?” he asked slowly. “It’s such a nice blade, I thought perhaps I might keep it…”

“It’s - it’s mine,” she insisted, scowling up at him.

“Shame, it’s the sort of dagger I’d be willing to trade for,” he told her, heaving a melodramatic sigh. “I’m not certain I can part with it.”

“You - I -” she stuttered, and she folded her arms as she studied him critically. “Is that so?”

“Maybe I could, with the right motivation,” he mused.

He let his gaze wander over her, again taking in the sight of her full pink lips with the careless paint accenting the middle of their pout. What harm would it do, something so trivial? The excitement and nerves from the hunt still raced through him, and a reckless desire overtook him at the sight of her. How long had it been since he’d felt it this acutely? A good hunt and a pretty, young lass standing before him - his request was harmless, and she was staring at him so very _challengingly_ , to boot.

“Aye, just a token, really - a small trifle,” he insisted with a shrug.

“Oh?” she said.

“I suppose I could be convinced to part with it for - a kiss?” he suggested, watching her face intently.

Something shifted in her dark gaze, brown eyes flicking over his features before a smirk curled the corners of her mouth. “Is that all? You were beginning to make me think you wanted the sun and stars in exchange for a mere dagger.”

“No, lass - I think a kiss will do just fine, as thanks for returning it to you,” he told her.

She considered him a moment longer, lips still curved into such a pretty smile he felt his heart racing against his ribs. “All right,” she agreed. “A kiss for returning my dagger.”

His heart beat even faster at the words, watching the way she chewed her lip for a moment before she took a step toward him. She held his gaze, seeming unfazed by the request or the way he must be looking at her so hungrily. But he hadn’t seen a lass like her in so long - none in his tribe caught his eye, none in the tribes they had visited in winters or months past either. Her dark eyes almost glimmered as if a fire was lit behind them, all humor and mirth - something he had almost forgotten existed.

Slowly he leaned toward her, uncertain why he felt the need to prolong this moment, to see if she truly wanted this from him. But she was almost smiling as she stood on tiptoes to reach up to him, parting her lips invitingly. He could taste her breath, her nose brushing against his, and he rejoiced in the feeling of her fingers caressing the hand that held her dagger.

And then she surged forward, teeth catching his bottom lip and tugging it roughly, sharply, until he let out a startled sound halfway between a moan and a gasp. She dragged his lip between her teeth, yanking it even as he felt her swipe her tongue along it, and then she pulled away. He hadn’t even noticed she had taken the dagger from his grip until it was too late, and she took several steps back from him.

A trickle of giggles followed her as she spun in place and quickly scurried away, clambering up on the wagon nearby to take her place atop the bear she had slain. When he caught her eye she laughed, throwing her head back for a moment before she met his gaze - and winked.

The wagon set into motion, carrying her away from him. He observed her departure for several long moments before he shook his head, as if he could shake himself of the way he had been so transfixed by her. He had taken a risk - and in a way, it had paid off.

Raising a hand to his lips he rubbed at the spot that stung - and when he pulled his fingers away he found a thin coating of blood on his fingertips.

_Not a scratch from druffalo or a bear - but bleeding from a young lass, at the end of it._

Shaking his head he chuckled to himself and followed the caravan of wagons carrying away their successful haul. His mind wandered over the hunt, but mostly it strayed to the wicked dark eyes of a lass from the northern tribe.

They rejoined the other hunting parties, and Rylen’s gaze wandered over the many carts and assemblage of prey that had been slain. With a smile he made his way to the tall, golden figure wrapped in reddish brown fur and cloth overseeing some of the preparations happening within the camp.

“Excellent spoils,” Rylen murmured as he stopped beside his Thane.

“Better than I had expected, I’ll admit,” Cullen responded, but he turned a grin to Rylen. And then he frowned. “What happened to your lip?”

“Nothing,” Rylen quickly brushed off the other man’s concerns. He cleared his throat as he wiped once more at the small trickle of blood from the tear the lass’ teeth had given him. “How is everyone else?”

“Evelyn is checking the wounded,” Cullen answered. “Though there were very few. Joining forces, this was - better than I could have imagined. I am glad we made the attempt.”

Rylen grunted noncommittally as he looked over the few hunters that were nursing minor wounds. Amongst them he found the Thane’s mate, slowly picking her way through the few hunters who sat on the ground. Her dark furs and light hide armor did little to conceal the roundness of her stomach, the delicacy with which she chose each careful step between prone figures.

“Still wishing she’d stayed behind?” Rylen asked, raising an eyebrow at Cullen beside him.

“Whatever my thoughts, she insisted,” Cullen grumbled, glaring out over the camp. But his gaze was continually drawn to the smaller figure that stopped occasionally beside injured hunters, kneeling or bending down to heal wounds with her magic.

At this Rylen chuckled, shaking his head as he let his gaze roam over the shared camp as well. He caught sight of the archer, the lass from earlier, but she was engaged in unloading the bear she had taken down. Mael approached the wagon, his face torn between smiling and frowning as he called to the archer. She stopped what she was doing, putting her hands on her hips and throwing back her braids as if striking a triumphant pose.

“Abi, mo laochain! Did that bear get you?” the man asked.

She scoffed and laughed, shaking her head. “Please, boban, I can handle a bear.”

“Hmm,” the man hummed, placing a hand beneath his chin as something like relief came across his face. “It appears you can. You gave me a fright, I am glad you are unharmed.”

“It’s all right, boban, you don’t need to worry about me,” she answered, though the tone of her voice almost sounded exasperated. She smiled brightly at Mael and then returned to her work.

“Rylen?” Cullen’s voice from beside him pulled his attention away from the archer, from the realization that she had been the other leader’s daughter and he hadn’t known. Cullen followed where his gaze had rested and chuckled. “See something you like?”

Rylen smirked at his Thane and shook his head. “No, just - thinking about how successful our hunt was.”

“Oh aye, our hunt was very successful,” Cullen said, humor heavily implied in his tone. “That lass who seems to have caught your eye - she is the one who took down the bear?”

Rylen nodded, reaching up absently to the cut that still stung slightly on his lip. His gaze wandered her way once more, unable to resist.

“I might inquire, speak to the Thane,” Cullen suggested.

“No,” Rylen began to protest but Cullen clapped him on the shoulder.

“It’s been over five winters,” Cullen pointed out. “And relations between our tribes are good. What harm could there be in me asking?”

Rylen chafed slightly but considered the other man’s words. There wasn’t any harm in asking, after all. He nodded, but before he could speak Cullen turned to face his mate as she approached them.

Evelyn’s pale, lightning eyes wandered over the pair before her, the lines and careful markings of her blue paint giving her intense, quiet observation an eerie quality as it always did. She rested a hand on her stomach as she turned her gaze up to Cullen and smiled.

“Everyone is fine, a mhuirnín,” she told him. “No serious wounds or fatalities. The gods have smiled on us, today, and rewarded your show of kin to the northern tribe.”

Cullen smiled and reached for his mate, cupping her cheek as he looked her over. “And you, a ghrá geal? Are you all right?”

“Tired,” she confessed softly. “But pleased.”

“Let me get you to our tent,” Cullen said, but Evelyn shook her head.

“I am fine. Besides, I need to commune with their shaman, see if I can do anything to help them,” she insisted. “Duty first, a mhuirnín. Then I may rest.”

Cullen nodded but as soon as Evelyn turned away he sighed.

A woman in fawn-colored furs approached, hands folded before herself as she looked at Evelyn and Cullen. Her thick golden hair was piled high in a mass of braids; bones, beads, and feathers were almost woven into the laced strands. A soft rhythmic jingling accompanied her steps as the bones and beads clicked against one another. The top half of her face was covered with black paint, and several white dots lined her nose and cheeks beneath the line of black. Bright yellow eyes peered out from the heavy war paint, but she smiled warmly at Evelyn, who inclined her head and rested a small hand on her breast.

“Céad míle fáilte, Enid,” Evelyn murmured.

“Céad míle fáilte, Evelyn,” the other woman returned. She looked between the three standing before her and then her gaze fell on Evelyn’s round stomach.

The woman held out her hands, and Evelyn stepped before her, resting her hands on the waiting palms. A soft glow of magic illuminated between the pair, and then the woman opened her eyes. “You must take care of yourself as well as your clan,” the woman chided softly, but the bright smile on her face belied the seriousness of the scolding.

“It is not my first,” Evelyn told her, but she murmured her thanks. “Are your kin all right? I still have the energy to tend to wounds if you need the help.”

“No, young one, we are all fine,” the woman answered. She released Evelyn’s hands and then turned to face Cullen and Rylen, inclining her head slightly in greeting. “The gods have smiled on us, it seems.”

Cullen nodded and stood straighter. “Aye, it seems they did,” he agreed. “My thanks for your blessings, it seems they were well received.”

The woman smiled briefly before looking out over the bustle of the hunters. Rylen had only met the shaman once before, when he had gone with Cullen to appeal to the northern tribe’s Thane for this hunt. Now he watched her calmly studying the bear being taken off the cart, wondering at her thoughts on the kill.

“I have a request, if I may,” she said after a moment’s contemplation. “The bear that was slain was done so by one of our hunters. I wish for the pelt and claws to go to her, if you would allow it. I have been allowed by my Thane to barter for it, if -”

“I accept,” Cullen said, inclining his head. “Of course she may keep it, and may it bring her good fortune -”

“Wait,” Rylen interrupted, frowning. “My Thane, I helped fell the beast as well. The lass dealt the final blow, aye, but I had my sword buried in its neck and gave her the opportunity to strike. If I may, I’d like to keep a small token as well.”

Cullen and the shaman considered him for a moment, and then a smirk came across the woman’s face. “If your Thane agrees, I’ll let you approach the hunter about that yourself.”

“Aye, that sounds fair,” Cullen said, and he quirked an eyebrow and smiled at Rylen. “Talk to the lass, see what she’ll give you.”

Rylen fought the urge to roll his eyes at Cullen, but turned to follow the shaman to where the archer was carefully attempting to reclaim her arrow from the bear’s throat.

“Abigeál,” the shaman called.

The archer looked up at the words and stood, wiping her hands on the furs hanging at her waist. She smiled at the shaman, but her gaze fell on Rylen and she raised an eyebrow, a challenging, humorous gleam coming into her eyes at the sight of him. “Aye, màmag?”

Rylen’s eyebrows rose as high as they could as he looked between the two. Daughter of the shaman? He hadn’t expected that, either, and wondered if Cullen knew. If he did, he would want to speak with the Thane on Rylen’s behalf even more, despite what feelings Rylen may have on the matter.

“This hunter claims half your prize,” the shaman answered, and there was a hint of laughter in her tone.

“Did he fire the arrows that felled it?” Abigeál challenged, but she smirked at him after she said it.

“I will let you decide,” her mother told her. “Play nicely, a bhobain.”

And with that warning the shaman inclined her head and walked away, leaving Rylen and Abigeál to sort the matter out themselves. For a moment they simply stared at one another, though her eyes raked over him slowly, seeming to evaluate him from head to toe.

“Do you try to make a claim to everything? First a dagger you found, now my kill,” she observed slowly.

“You can’t deny my sword was buried in the beast’s throat when you fired those arrows,” Rylen pointed out.

“It was still alive,” she countered, and she put her hands on her hips as she peered up at him.

“It would have perished from the blow,” Rylen insisted, folding his arms before himself.

“Slowly, much to the anger of Sigfrost. I gave it the clean death it deserved,” she told him, lifting her chin slightly.

“I don’t want much, lass, but I did help fell the beast,” Rylen began, but he cut off at her laughter.

“Just another token?” she challenged, raising an eyebrow. Her eyes dipped to his lips and she smirked. “Do you think that will turn out any differently than before?”

“A different token, this time,” he said, and he winked at her. For a moment he watched as her cheeks pinkened a little, and then he gestured at the bear. “Half of its claws. That is all.”

She considered him for a moment and then glanced down at the prize at her feet. When she raised her gaze once more she shrugged. “You would be content with such a trivial share?”

“Well, the sight of them would bring me pleasure,” he told her, and he took a few steps forward, holding her rapt attention as he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “The memory of a token I’d soon not forget.”

With that he let his teeth and lips catch her earlobe, tugging it gently as he savored the softly gasped, badly stifled moan that slipped from her throat. He released her just as quickly as he’d nibbled the soft bit of flesh, and when he straightened he noticed the wide-eyed stare with which she met his. He winked and turned away, intending to speak with Cullen about a possibility he hadn’t found himself considering for longer than he could remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abigeál is simply the Gaelic version of Abigail, her name will be shortened to Abi in this fic.
> 
> Translations of the Gaelic as I go. Also if I get something wrong feel free to tell me!
> 
> mo laochain - my little hero  
> boban - papa  
> a mhuirnín - my darling, my dear  
> a ghrá geal - my bright love  
> céad míle fáilte - a hundred, thousand welcomes  
> màmag - mama  
> a bhobain - my darling, rascal


	2. The Arrangement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is now _tentatively_ marked as 17 chapters. That may fluctuate but my current plan...is 17. Let's see how that goes.
> 
> xx,  
> Lara

This time of year was quiet, few travelers making their way through Gherlen’s Pass to Rifthold or even further on to Orlais, and all travelers certainly avoided Sulcher’s Pass now that the first snow had come. Their journey had them on these roads five days, now, and Abi could likely count on one hand the number of other merchants and travelers they had passed. Only the creaking sound of their wagon as the wheels rolled over the rocky, muddy road and the druffalo snorting as they pulled it along reached her ears.

Beside her, her father shifted and pulled at his furs, holding the reins of the wagon loosely in one hand as he sought to get more comfortable. They had sat in silence since their midday rest, but now as they began to approach the end of their journey home, her father almost seemed restless or keen to speak.

She felt fairly certain she knew what it was about, but she didn’t help him broach the subject. Instead she pulled her fur hood further forward, snuggling into its warmth as she pointedly ignored the way he huffed a breath and shifted again. It was the same, every time they made this trip, every time they approached home once more. She wouldn’t stumble onto the topic this time, as she had in the past, and so she chose silence over any discussion that could circle back to the talk he longed to give her.

“Should be arriving before dark,” her father muttered. “I was worried about the conditions of the road.”

“As you’ve said,” she pointed out, again raising a hand to her fur hood.

She could tell he was glancing at her, and she kept her face turned to look out over the snow covering the ground and trees lining the road.

Another beat of silence, and then -

“Last trip before the spring, but,” he heaved a sigh, “who knows, maybe by next spring I’ll have to make it on my own.”

Abi raised her eyes skyward, silently praying for patience. He had jumped right in this time, instead of trying to set her up to circle around to what he wanted to speak with her about. Heaving a sigh she kept her gaze averted, and didn’t bother asking what he meant.

“Of course, some of the older children have been learning Common,” he mused. “Maybe I could bring them along. After all it would be good for them, for the tribe -”

“I’m not certain I like the idea of traveling with so many exuberant young ones in the spring,” Abi interrupted, smirking as she finally looked at her father.

Mael was a large bear of a man, but his true strength lay in his words and his ability to reason things out thoughtfully and eloquently. A fierce, proud, and capable warrior, yet Abi only knew him as her gentle boban who had raised and taught her about the world beyond their tribe. For eight thaws now he had taken Abi with him when he went to visit the dwarves of Orzammar and the lowlander settlements outside of the hold. She wondered a little if he regretted his decision to take her with him so often, even though the ease with which she conversed and bartered with lowlanders was a valuable skill he had cultivated her whole life.

The crinkles at the corner of his dark eyes showed that he at least found a little humor in what she had said. But then he shook his head and the white streaks in his long umber braids and beard caught the sunlight. “A stóirín,” he began again, giving her a pointed look. “You cannot dream forever.”

Abi pouted her lips and faced forward once more, looking away from eyes the same color as hers, which somehow only lent too much truth to their gaze. “Says who, boban? I am not useless, I still bring much to our people. I hunt better than the other archers, speak the language of lowlanders and know their ways, I -”

At this he heaved a deeper sigh. “Aye, Abigeál, that is part of what worries me,” he told her. “Sometimes I worry you forget you are not one of them.”

“I know who I am,” she insisted. But she fidgeted slightly with the small pouch at her waist, thinking of the trinkets she had bartered for when her father had been busy negotiating with the dwarves.

“Aye, you always have,” he agreed, and he reached his large paw of a hand to her knee and patted it gently. “And you know your mother and I would never ask you to change. Just, perhaps, to bring that stubborn head of yours out of the clouds long enough to consider things around you.”

“I am still young, I don’t see what the rush is,” she protested, tugging at the furs covering her lap. He had been bringing this up more frequently now, but really, three-and-twenty winters wasn’t ancient, not in the slightest. She still felt like she had many more winters before she needed to worry about it, all things considered.

“A stóirín, this isn’t about wanting more kin. Although your mother does think a wee one would be good for you, give you a bit more direction than your heart does at the moment,” he told her. Several moments of deep chuckles followed the words, and then he shook his head and continued. “You cannot stay like this forever, with us.”

Abi grumbled and folded her arms, trying to sink further into the fur hood as if that could help her avoid his words.

“Think of how much more you would see,” he suggested. “A new hold, new hunting grounds. How many more relationships you could make for trade. Varric has ties to other lowlanders and sufacers, you could travel more than Gherlen’s Pass during the thaw.”

“At the cost of being bedded by someone who just wants a mate and lots of wee ones,” she groused. “I’m fine where I am for now, boban.”

“What are you waiting for?” he prompted her. “We - we had that hunt, did any of the hunters from Valehold catch your eye? The Thane seems eager to make ties with their tribe, and your mother said the spirits agree with that path.”

Despite the chill in the air Abi felt her cheeks heat, flushing with the memory of the hunter who had tried to demand a kiss from her. Since the hunt her mind had wandered a few times to the way his voice had sounded as he whispered to her, the way it had felt when he nibbled her ear. Before their people had parted ways she had considered seeing if he wanted a quick tumble outside of the camp, but he had seemed too preoccupied organizing the Valehold tribe’s hunters.

And so she had simply passed along the bear claws he had requested and helped her tribe pack up their camp.

“No,” she lied easily. It was true, in a way. No matter how fierce and striking the hunter had been, she hadn’t thought much beyond wanting to see if he was just as talented between a lass’ legs as he had been at hunting.

Her father glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, but he merely heaved a sigh. “Think, at least, on your mother, a stóirín,” he told her. “She has dreams for you, she wants to see you lead a fruitful life. For you to go on to do great things for your people, and after - after Mackenzie, at least think on it, hm?”

Abi tightened how her arms were folded, pressing her lips together as she fought back the retorts that came to mind. It had been three years, now, since that fateful day had stolen Mackenzie from them. She could still remember the ghastly creatures charging them, surprising them in the middle of their journey home. Mackenzie had been a fearsome warrior, but even fearsome warriors perished to the Blight once it took root inside.

Thinking on it still brought sorrow to Abi, and having it used to push her toward duty chafed her. He was right, though she hated to admit it. Coleen lived in Stonehold with her bondmate and kin now, but she had been his first bondmate’s child, before he bonded with Enid. Abi was all her mother, their tribe’s Augur, had to pass on now.

“I am sorry, Abi,” he said, reaching over once more to squeeze her knee. “I did not mean to ruin the peace of our journey. I know how much we both love these trips, I simply - wanted to share my thoughts.”

A small smile pulled at Abi’s lips, and she reached a hand down to squeeze his fingers. “It’s all right, boban,” she murmured. “I know you just want what’s best, for the tribe and for me.”

She thought about telling him why she delayed, why she chafed when she thought about duty. About how she wasn’t quite certain she was ready to leave, not even after three years. About how she longed for someone who wanted more than a warm body in their bed and the chance at having a wee one to pass on their name. The last she knew he would worry over, citing her fascination with the lowlanders they visited and that she spoke of more frequently than she should.

Instead they fell back into a comfortable silence, both seemingly lost in thought the rest of their journey.

 

* * *

 

Their wagon rolled through the gate in the middle of the tall perimeter made of felled trees, and several people stopped and waved when they saw them. As her father slowed the cart she hopped down, intending to help the others approaching to unload it. The laughter and shouted greeting of children preceded a gaggle of wee ones, who hurried to surround Abi with smiles on their faces, preventing her from getting far.

“What did you bring us, Abi?”

“Do you have any stories?”

“What’s that, Abi?”

“Did you bring us treats?”

"Aye, did you Abi?"

“Calm down, calm down, wee terrors,” Abi teased, laughing at the sight of eager faces turned up to her, hands outstretched in expectation of treats. She put her hands on her hips, clucking her tongue playfully as she took in their greedy expressions. “So impatient. You know, I’m not certain I have anything for wee terrors without manners.”

“Please, Abi - please did you bring us any?” The chorus of high-pitched voices chanted instead, and she giggled.

“Oh, what’s - what’s this?” she said, feigning surprise at finding a small pouch on her belt. “Why, let’s see what’s in here.”

Squeals met the sight of the leather purse, each child vying to get closer to her as she opened it. Into each waiting palm she pressed a small bit of the chewy, strange treat she had bartered from a lowlander who’d come from Jader.

“It’s called _water taffy,_ ” she said loudly, trying to be heard over the delighted laughter of the children. “Please, be careful -”

“Abigeál!”

At the call she looked up, and immediately her eyebrows jumped high on her forehead. Her mother was standing near their hut, and three fur-wrapped and armored men flanked her, with Mael walking slowly to join the cluster as well. Her mother gestured her over before she clasped her hands and turned to say something to the Thane, who stood beside her.

But he wasn’t the figure Abi was focused on, her gaze instead fixated on the hunter with chestnut waves and braids that fell to his shoulders. Even at this distance she could tell his gaze was fixed just as intently on her, and the memory of the look in bright aqua eyes when he’d asked her for a kiss suddenly came to her.

Heart racing she finally straightened and gently pushed her way past the small gaggle surrounding her, children all now contentedly sucking at the sweets she had passed out. Beside the hunter was a man in reddish brown furs, and she remembered her father pointing him out as the other tribe’s Thane at the hunt. The realization came upon her and she gulped as she slowly made her way up the hill to her home.

Both Thanes, her parents - and the hunter. There was only one reason she was facing all of them together, and she made certain she stood a little straighter as she stopped before them. The eyes of the hunter never left her, and she tried to decipher the look he was giving her. The same hunger those blue depths had had before was there, but underneath was something else.

When she caught sight of ten bear claws strung on a thin strip of leather hanging around his broad shoulders, she felt her insides twist as she thought about the matching set adorning her collarbone. That they had both decided to wear their trophy thusly surprised her, adding to the confusing jumble of emotions overwhelming her.

“Aye, màmag?” she greeted, looking at the faces all peering earnestly down at her.

“May we speak inside your home, Enid?” the Thane asked, and at the woman’s nod they turned to lead the way inside.

For a moment Abi stood staring at the hunter, and then quickly scurried inside after her parents in an attempt to escape the suggestive smirk the man was giving her. Her relief was short lived, as he and the other Thane followed her inside.

“Abigeál, Thane Black-Wall has an offer I would like for you to hear,” her mother began, gesturing for them all to take a place in the small common area of their hut.

Abi’s eyes turned to the Thane, watching as he considered her. His long black beard and hair were tied in thick braids heavily laced with stark white strands, the only bit of light found on the giant man piled in his customary black furs. The greying of his hair and wrinkling around his eyes tended to give a false sense of frailty despite his size, though any who tried to best him quickly discovered their mistake.

It had been only four winters now since he had lived up to the meaning of his legend-mark yet again, overcoming a challenge to his right as Thane mere moments before taking his place in front of his tribe to lead them against an onslaught from a rival clan. The young fools who had thought him weak for falling in love with a lowlander and bonding with her had learned the harsh and fatal lesson that day that Tòm Black-Wall was more than capable of defending himself and his people. His willingness to place himself between his clan and danger much as an unyielding wall, had rightfully earned him his legend.

Now the subject of his thoughtful gaze, though, Abi found herself picking nervously at the hide of her armor. She smoothed the furs around her hips and tried to still her hands, using all of her willpower to keep herself from glancing at the hunter who stood by the door.

“Abigeál, you are aware the hunt you took part in was the first step in strengthening relationships between our neighboring tribes,” Black-Wall began. “Thane Lionheart and I wish to continue to strengthen that bond, for the betterment of all. Their hunters will be of great help to ours, as they were before, come the thaw. And of course, joined forces against danger, if ever needed, would be quite a boon considering our smaller numbers.”

Abi nodded, keeping her eyes fixed on the Thane as he spoke with her. It wasn’t anything she didn’t already know, but she pretended to be transfixed by his words in order to avoid the way Thane Lionheart and the hunter were watching her so carefully.

“You speak Common?” Thane Lionheart asked suddenly, and Abi’s gaze flicked to where he stood before she gave a careful nod. “And you barter with the dwarves and lowlanders?”

“Aye,” she answered softly.

“Our relations with the surfacer dwarves, our bond with a merchant guild headed by a surfacer named Varric, have been a source of trade for many years, now,” her father embellished for her. “And Abigeál has accompanied me for eight thaws as I’ve conducted our trade. She is an excellent barterer and knows their customs.”

“Common is not well-known by our tribe, and we only trade with a few lowlander settlements in the area for things we cannot make or trade from other tribes,” Thane Lionheart explained. “But we have a great many hunters, and could offer unified hunts as well as protection in exchange.”

“Aye, that is more than agreeable,” Thane Black-Wall said. He turned to face Abi once more, burly arms folded across his chest. “There is need in Thane Lionheart’s clan for a trader, Abigeál, though the need they have in their clan is also as a -”

“Bondmate,” she finished for him, and finally glanced at the hunter by the door.

“Aye, that is correct,” Thane Black-Wall confirmed.

Abi felt her heart race, too many thoughts vying for her attention for her to focus solely on one. Before she could form any sort of response, her father stepped forward and folded his arms.

“Abigeál is not only a trader and speaker of the lowlander's tongue, she is an excellent archer and hunter,” he addressed Thane Lionheart. “As well as daughter of our Augur. Magic runs strong in her blood, and any children she bears may carry that magic. What of this hunter?”

Thane Lionheart considered for a moment before he smirked, a scar at the corner of his mouth pulling up with action. “ _This_ _hunter_ is the Master of the Hunt of our clan, my closest advisor, and a battle-hardened warrior worthy of his legend-mark. Rylen the Relentless is more than a fair prospect and match for such a lass, I assure you.”

Abi quirked an eyebrow and glanced at the man, noticing the way he finally pushed himself from how he’d been leaning by the door. He took a few careful steps forward, eyes roving over the room before they settled on Abigeál.

“Until next winter,” he said firmly. “After that, the lass is free to choose what she wishes to do.”

Thane Lionheart nodded and looked at the others, a casual ease showing in how he let the man make the proposal for himself.

Only until the next winter?

Abi frowned slightly despite herself, wondering a bit at the arrangement. Surprisingly she found she didn’t mind it too much - only until the following winter, and then she could do what she liked, without the sense of duty hanging over her head quite so much. She would have served her people for duty, and then would be able to continue on as she wanted. And in the meantime the prospect of bedding the man who watched her so intently was more than a little appealing, if she was honest with herself.

It almost sounded too good to be true.

“Abigeál?”

Abi looked at her mother with a smirk, reaching her decision. She nodded once, and her mother smiled.

“Aye, you have an agreement,” Thane Black-Wall answered.

“Wait, I - I want the lass to say it,” Rylen the Relentless said. When Abi met his gaze she was surprised to see a slight frown almost like one of concern on his face. “I want to make certain the lass actually agrees and is pleased with the arrangement.”

“Aye, I - I am,” she told him, her voice wavering slightly despite the way she tried to keep it firm. But the moment their eyes met she felt as if the breath had been stolen from her.

At her words a gleam came into his bright eyes, a slow smile coming upon him, pulling up the tattooed lines of his chin revealed by the surprising way he kept his face clean-shaven. He stepped forward and Abi stood straighter, trying to keep herself steady as he approached. She hardly came up to his shoulder, but made certain she was standing tall as they faced one another.

Rylen slipped one hand to the back of her head, catching his fingers in her long hair and braids so that he could tilt her head further. They held one another’s gaze, and where she thought she would be unaffected suddenly all she desired in that moment, more than anything, was to feel his lips on hers, to taste him. He leaned down, and she forgot that there was anyone else in the room as her heart raced expectantly, desperate to see how a man like this might kiss.

And then his teeth caught her bottom lip, tugging it roughly before his lips closed around it, sucking gently for just a brief moment until she found herself just as suddenly released. The wicked smirk on his face made her breath catch again, lip stinging slightly, and for once she was utterly speechless.

“Abigeál Maelsdotten, you will be mine,” Rylen said firmly and loudly.

Thus declared, he nodded his head at the Thanes and turned, marching confidently from the hut. When Abi shifted as if to follow, her mother’s hand snatched out and grabbed her wrist.

“Not yet, a leanbh,” she chided in a hushed whisper.

It took Abi a moment to remember herself and realize - of course. She couldn’t go with him now, not until he’d proven himself worthy of her by stealing her away from her clan and its warriors. Custom dictated it, but for the moment she simply wanted to roll her eyes at tradition and follow him to see if she could convince him to prove himself another way.

Sighing she turned away from the door and resisted the temptation to follow, instead letting her mind wander over what she had agreed to, and realizing that she’d need to ready herself.

 

* * *

 

The flames were almost all burnt out, and Abi grabbed another log and put it in the stone-lined fire pit before she resumed her task. She placed the last small trinket she would miss, the carved statuette Mackenzie had given her, in the center of the pelt. With one last glance around her small area she began to roll the large bearskin she had made of her trophy from their hunt.

“A bhobain?” Her mother’s soft voice called to her.

Abi smiled and glanced over her shoulder, watching as her mother slowly walked to take her place on a stool near the scrubbed wooden table upon which Abi's pelt rested. It was always such a wonderful, comforting sight in the evenings to see her mother without the heavy charcoal she used as her face paint, her hair simply gathered in one long golden braid. Right now she was simply Enid, mother, not shaman and Augur.

Her bright yellow eyes moved over the roll Abi was trying to keep tight, and she leaned over and picked up the agate cameo resting with the small collection of trinkets. She smirked though she shook her head, tutting softly. “I hope you have readied more practical items and not just your wee treasures,” she mused.

“Of course, màmag,” Abi sighed as she continued to tuck everything into the bearskin. “I’ll need my weapons, won’t I? Make him actually - _prove_ himself?”

“Aye,” her mother agreed quietly, and she set the small cameo where she had found it. “Are you truly content, Abigeál?”

Abi glanced sidelong at her mother, noticing the tender look in otherwise piercing, all-knowing eyes. She reached for her mother’s hand and squeezed her fingers. “I’ll be all right, really,” she assured her.

“I am more worried about him, truth be told,” her mother teased, and she laughed. “I’m not quite certain he knows what he bargained for.”

Abi snickered, head hanging as she did. But the quality of her mother’s laughter changed and when Abi looked at her once more she was surprised to see her eyes swimming with tears.

“I am proud of you, a leanbh,” she said. “Watching you grow up has been one of life’s greatest joys. I know I’ve pushed you about duty, but I do want you to be happy. I hope - I hope that you find joy with him.”

“What do you know of him?” Abi asked, unable to resist the urge to ask.

Her mother considered her for a moment and then shrugged. “It is as his Thane said, he is a great warrior and hunter, and a good match for you. I consulted the spirits, and they agree - he seems a kind, patient, capable man.”

 _Kind, patient, capable._ What about _excitement_? He had teased and provoked her before, but once he was her mate would that wit disappear, leaving her bored with _kind_ and _patient_?

“Thank you, màmag,” Abi said after biting back a sigh. A question she had been pondering came to her, and she turned a thoughtful frown to her sadly smiling parent. “Did you insist on the terms, for my sake?”

“You mean the length? No,” her mother answered. “He did, he was clear that it be an arrangement like this, giving you plenty of chance to walk away should you so choose at the end.”

“Then you won’t miss me long,” Abi said, giggling as she looked back to her mother’s gaze.

But her mother was frowning, tears still welled in her eyes. “Abigeál, your place will be with them,” her mother pointed out. “Whatever the two of you decide when your bond has ended, you will - be a part of their kin.”

“I -” Abi began, but she trailed off as she tried to think. The way they had kept insisting on her choice, she thought it meant she would be free to come home, to return to her people.

“I thought you understood,” her mother murmured. “I am sorry, it - it is the way, you know this. Besides, perhaps you will have a wee one on the way, you may - you may _want_ to stay.”

Abi swallowed and resisted letting her gaze wander to the small pouch she had packed already, the one that held herbs and a recipe to prevent such a thing from happening. Josephine had understood her asking, had chewed her lip for a moment before caving and passing along her lowlander knowledge to Abi, with a soft confession that when she had first accepted Tòm Black-Wall's proposal, she had done the same.

If it was only a year, she didn’t want to be bound to him so permanently, leaving behind her child if she ever moved on elsewhere. Her mother wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t approve, and would again sigh that Abi had spent too much time learning the ways of lowlanders instead of venerating her people's.

Fighting the desire to confess her concerns, she merely nodded and forced a smile. “You are right, màmag, a lot could change before next winter,” she said.

“Were it possible I could see all of the changes as they come,” her mother mused wistfully. “The bond between our tribes, I - I am glad for it. The hunts, trading - I will see you more than I would, otherwise. But it - it won’t be the same.”

Abi frowned and reached once more for her mother’s hand, squeezing her fingers to try to convey the emotions she was suddenly incapable of expressing.

“Well, I - I need to let you prepare,” her mother said, squeezing her hand in return before she released it. “He doesn’t seem the type to interrupt your time in the Land of the Dreams, but even so you need rest. You have much to ready yourself for.”

Her mother pushed herself to her feet, smiling as she absently brushed the skirt of her woolen robes. Abi watched her for a moment and then the realization that she didn’t even know when she would be leaving struck her - and she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around her mother. Arms wrapped tightly about her in turn, one hand reaching up to tenderly comb fingers through her loose hair.

“Your father and I love you very much, a bhobain,” her mother whispered. “May the gods watch over you, and guide you to joy and great deeds. And remember, my little Abigeál - an rud nach fiú é a lorg, ní fiú í a fháil.”

“Thank you, màmag,” she murmured in return, blinking back tears that blurred her vision. “I love you.”

Her mother leaned back to press a kiss to her forehead, cupping her cheeks with her thin, warm hands. “Get rest, Abigeál, for tomorrow is likely an important day for you,” she said as she stepped away, but she held her face a moment longer before finally letting go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gaelic translations again:
> 
> boban - papa  
> a stóirín - my little treasure  
> màmag - mama  
> a leanbh - my child  
> a bhobain - my darling, rascal  
> An rud nach fiú é a lorg, ní fiú í a fháil. - What is not worth seeking, is not worth finding.


	3. The Capture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels like an ominous song, but I've been obsessively listening to Lord Huron while writing this fic, and their music has such a wonderful feel for all of this. The lyrics on this are kind of...depressing? But this song gave me such a feel for this chapter.
> 
> If you're curious on a little bit of mood music, listen to ["The Yawning Grave" by Lord Huron](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UmtCz1a3ikc).
> 
> xx,  
> Lara

The sky was beginning to lighten, a thin line of grey-green light growing along the horizon that showed between the surrounding trees and hills. Not a sound but the soft groaning of the branch when he shifted his weight greeted his ears, and he glanced around to make certain he truly was still alone.

His view from the line of trees let him see the entirety of the settlement, every bit of the perimeter as if he were a bird of prey circling above it. He had spent the time until nightfall watching it intently from his perch in the large tree, observing the palisade and trying to determine its weakest points. The patrols, too, which he had even been able to study after nightfall, tracking the movement of their torches and the shadows in the dim light of the camp’s central fires.

As he watched the sun begin to tint the world with color, Rylen took a bite of the crusty bread topped with smoked fish he had packed for himself. Absently he swung his dangling leg, his other bent and resting on the branch beneath him. He felt surprisingly calm, and rested, though he had worried what sleeping in this precarious position in the bough of the tree would do to his muscles. But instead he felt ready to take on the challenge he had set himself - and challenge it would likely be.

When Cullen had departed after finishing arrangements with Thane Black-Wall, he had laughed and clapped Rylen on the shoulder, wishing him good luck with a hearty wink. By all means everyone had eagerly agreed and seemed pleased with the arrangement, but that didn’t mean he was going to expect it to be easy. And so he had treated it as he treated any great hunt, preparing and laying out a plan.

The entire time he planned, he had mused over the soft way the lass had agreed to it, the look in her eyes when he had stepped forward to declare his intent. He had still been reeling from the sweet sight of children flocking to her, watching as she giggled and passed out some treat she had brought them from her travels. The image had kept him warm all night, along with the memory of how she had almost leaned into him and seemed breathless with anticipation for his kiss. The desire to tease her had come upon him, returning the token she had left him with at the hunt - the token that had haunted his sleep as well as his waking hours.

As he finished the last bit of his meal he wondered over what kind of captive bride she would be. He couldn’t get a feel for her, which while exciting made him feel the need to prepare for a challenging capture. She had both rebuffed and accepted him several times now in their few interactions, and he wondered which attitude he would be met with now.

Wiping his hands on his hide breeches he closed his satchel and tied it tightly, glancing up to give one last perusal of the settlement as the dawn began to come. He climbed carefully down the tree, landing in the snow beneath it with a satisfying _crunch_ before he stretched. Undoing the buckle of his belt he removed the sword hanging at his side, the daggers, longbow, and quiver he had as well. He would need them later, but now - now he needed to follow custom and enter the settlement unarmed.

Stashing his weapons at the base of the tree, he stretched once more and took a moment to prepare. He preferred stealth, which meant that for now, he wasn’t in a hurry. If all went to plan, he’d have her back by midday tomorrow, but if it took a little longer he was unconcerned. He didn’t expect to fail, and he didn’t expect to have to wait longer than the next night to claim her as his.

With that thought in mind, he smirked and slowly began to make his way down from the thicket of trees toward the camp.

He had noticed a lower portion of the palisade, one that would likely be easy to scale, and knew he could time it for when the patrols were elsewhere. It wasn’t far from her family’s hut, and he hoped his early approach meant she would still be found within. A few days before when he and Cullen had arrived to approach the Thane and negotiate the new ties of their tribes, he had taken time to investigate the layout of the settlement. Their escape was sure to be straightforward, considering the prominence and ease of location of her home.

As he approached the perimeter he made certain to stick to the shadows, taking careful steps along rocks when he could, trying his best to avoid the crunching sound of snow beneath his feet. Once he reached the lower spot in the palisade he stood against it for a moment, listening. The patrols were nowhere within sight or earshot, and he grinned before he took a deep breath, wiping his hands on his fur armor one last time.

Finding footholds and hoisting himself up the large logs took hardly a moment, until he was able to hoist himself up and over to land with a soft thud on the other side.

He was inside.

Hugging the shadows he carefully dashed from behind one structure to another, avoiding the few fires that were burning down to their embers now. Carefully, patiently, he made his way to the round hut of the Augur, and then began to sneak along the side to the entrance. The one drawback of his perch in the trees was that he hadn’t been able to see clearly enough to determine who might be inside the hut. Taking a deep breath to ready himself for the riskiest moment of his hunt, he rounded the corner.

To his surprise Abigeál was sitting on a small stool outside the hut, her attention buried in what she was holding on her lap. He took a moment to soak in his good fortune, watching as she sat fletching arrows with something akin to irritation in her actions. Frowning slightly he glanced around, but no one else was in sight, and he knew he couldn’t dawdle.

As he stalked forward she stood up, turning away from him, and in two swift steps he took his chance.

One hand he clamped over her mouth, the other he wrapped around her waist, crushing her back against him and pinning her arms to her side. A muffled cry met the action, and he could feel her tense in his grasp for a moment before she seemed to relax. He leaned down, brushing his nose against her ear before he smiled.

“Did they leave you all alone out here, lass?” he purred softly.

He tugged her ear gently between his lips, noticing the way she shivered in his hold. Intrigued, he ran his tongue along the shell of her ear before he lowered his mouth and sucked gently at the sweet spot where he could feel her pulse racing against his lips and tongue. The moan she let out was stifled against his hand, but she leaned back into his chest, one hand reaching up to rest on his where he held her waist. Her head turned slightly, trying to seek out his gaze, and when their eyes met he felt for a moment as if he had forgotten himself.

Of all the reactions to his appearance, he wasn’t quite certain he had expected this one.

Unable to resist, he pressed another kiss to her throat, trailing his mouth down the side of it as he sucked and nipped at her flesh with a ghosting of his teeth. Again her knees seemed to weaken, a sigh tickling his hand with a soft huff of breath from her nose.

“If I release you, will you scream?” he asked, finally returning to the matter at hand instead of the distraction of her surprising eagerness.

She shook her head, turning wide eyes up to him. For a moment he hesitated, realizing that she could be lying, but he smiled at her and slowly released his hold on her. His heart raced, wondering what she would do. But she merely turned to face him, still staring up at him as if she was breathlessly awaiting his next actions.

He grinned and nodded, amazed at the ease with which this was going to plan thus far. She was still simply staring up at him, but he realized the patrols would likely be coming by again soon, the village beginning to wake up for the day. He bent and wrapped his arms around her thighs, lifting her easily over his shoulder.

“Wait!” she squealed, and she began to wriggle in his grasp. Despite how he tightened his arm around her to quash this attempt at resistance she managed to slip free, sliding off of him and stumbling slightly on her feet. “My things -”

“Your - lass, we need to go,” he said, frowning at her. “We have bows and arrows aplenty in our hold -”

“Not just that,” she insisted, and before he could say another word or stop her, she hurried inside the hut beside them.

A breath passed as he considered if it was a trap, but then he hurried inside after her. The hut was thankfully empty besides Abigeál scurrying around a table laden with a few items - including a large, rolled up bear pelt.

“You’re not serious, lass,” he said before he could stop himself.

She glanced at him, pulling her bow and quiver on her back before she picked up a small leather satchel to do the same. The bear pelt she had fitted with thick rope, creating a sling so that it could be thrown across a body. Lifting it by this, she carried it over to him and held it out, peering up at him with a silent appeal.

“I - gods, lass, you’re going to get me caught,” he groused.

“Please, I - I’d miss it all terribly. Please bring it with us,” she requested, still insistently holding out the sling.

He held her gaze a moment longer, but there was such a softness in her dark eyes that he found himself unable to resist her.

What had he gotten himself into?

Without another word he accepted the pelt and pulled it across his chest, securing it on his back. The pleased smile she gave him was more than a little distracting, and yet again he found himself having to refocus his mind on the task at hand. After making certain everything was secure on both of them, he nodded to her once more and stooped to lift her.

A trickle of giggles escaped her as he flung her over his shoulder, and he shook his head as he turned and carried her out of the hut in a few long strides.

He had expected a challenge, but the one he was faced with was quite different from the one he had imagined.

Charging out into the village, he stopped with the gate in sight as he took in the shocked expressions of the patrols and tribespeople who were emerging from nearby abodes to start their days. As the shock wore off they reached for weapons, readying battle cries.

With a loud bellowing warcry Rylen prepared himself, tightening the arm with which he held his captive over his shoulder, noticing the way he could feel her clutching to the armor on his back. “Rylen the Relentless has come for his claim!” he roared, and he took up a sprint as he headed for the break in the palisade that served as a gate.

To his dismay, more giggles trailed behind them as Abigeál continued to hold tightly onto him, doing little to even pretend that he really was stealing her away. The shouts of her clan rose into a jumbled cacophony that at least hid the way she positively squealed. He hoped that if any tales were told of how easily he had captured her they would omit the delight with which she let him.

As he passed through the gate after easily weaving and dodging the resistance of her clansmen, a shatter of glowing ice struck the palisade, just barely missing them. At this Abigeál finally stopped giggling, and he could feel her shift slightly so that she was no longer dangling listlessly over his shoulder.

“Slán agat, màmag,” he heard her say, and as he continued his race out of the settlement he noticed that she no longer laughed.

The long strides of his sprint carried them into the thicket of trees easily, and he slowed finally so that he could set her down. Pulling her behind a tree, he held her against it with a finger over his lips, imploring her to silence as he waited to hear if they were being followed.

She pressed her lips together, nodding as she waited and listened as well. The look in her eyes was somehow both impish and forlorn, and he frowned a little as he studied her. Once assured that they were not, in fact, still being pursued, he reached a hand to brush his knuckles against her cheek.

“Are you all right, lass?” he asked softly.

“Aye, I - I’m fine,” she answered, but the soft waver of her voice made his frown deepen. But she suddenly lit up with a smile, dark eyes gleaming. “So - how far is your clan?”

“About a day and a half’s trek,” he told her, still silently musing over her reactions.

She nodded and simply readjusted her longbow and quiver before she tugged her armor back into place. He finally realized that she was fully dressed, even wearing a heavy fur with a large hood, as if she had dressed to prepare for her capture. Torn between being glad he wouldn’t have to worry about her in the harsh cold and wondering over how readily she had let him take her, he decided to simply lead her away.

Abigeál followed him to the tree he had stashed his weapons and bag at, standing patiently as he buckled his belt and slung the satchel over his back. He took a moment to settle both satchel and the rolled bearskin comfortably, resisting the urge to grumble at her insistence to bring the latter along. But then he thought about it and realized -

“Is this your trophy, lass?” he asked, gesturing at the skin over his shoulder.

She nodded, smiling softly at him, but didn’t say anything else.

Rylen understood her desire to bring it with her, his eyes falling to the peek of a bear claw he could see beneath the heavy fur she wore. After holding a hand out to indicate their route, they fell into step together and he found himself considering how best to broach any topic of conversation with her.

“You’re the Master of the Hunt?” she asked suddenly, and he glanced sidelong to see her peering up at him.

“Aye,” he answered, watching as she nodded in response to his answer. “I never did tell you how impressive your hunting was, that day.”

A smirk twisted her tempting lips and she giggled. “Actually I think you did, in a way,” she quipped.

His barks of laughter echoed through the otherwise silent trees, and he shook his head. “I suppose you’re right,” he agreed after his mirth had finally calmed.

“I never thought about how - fun this could be,” she mused. “Stealing away, watching everyone so _shocked_ at the sight of us running off together.”

Despite himself he chuckled again in response to her observations. “Aye you did seem to be enjoying yourself.”

She shrugged, but then she yawned broadly, reaching her fingers up to cover it.

“Tired, lass? I realize - it's early, I’d thought you would just be starting your day, but you seemed to have started it much earlier,” he said, frowning at the way she was rubbing at one of her eyes.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she answered, and she avoided his gaze.

He fell silent, uncertain what to make of her admission, not knowing how to assure her or encourage her to share any hesitations or concerns she had. After a moment struggling with himself, he reached into one of the small satchels he had on his belt, pulling an apple and chunk of aged cheese from it. “Here, lass,” he told her, holding both out to her. “Have you eaten?”

Her eyes widened, and she looked between he and the food for a moment before she accepted the offering. “Thank you,” she murmured. “You’re right, I - I haven’t.”

They fell into a vaguely comfortable silence as she munched at the apple, and Rylen found himself as much at peace walking beside her as he could be. There were questions he wanted to ask her, things he thought of telling her about her new tribe, but instead he let her eat and look out over the snow-covered trees surrounding them. She was likely struggling with a great many things, adjusting to what was going to be her new life, and so he accepted silence as he continued to lead her away.

 

* * *

 

“This is a good spot, I think,” Rylen said, looking around the small clearing with his hands on his hips.

They were far enough off the path, and there was enough space to build a small fire in the snow away from the bushes. A rocky overhang created a small shelter, and it was here Rylen swung his satchel and the bear pelt off his back to set them down. Beside him Abigeál did the same, and then walked over to a bush and began to shake off some of the snow on its leaves.

The whole day they had spoken little, seemingly trying to adjust to one another’s presence. They had never been alone together until he had quite abruptly carried her away from her people, and he was acutely aware of the thoughts and desires he had had since he’d first seen her at the hunt. Now as she gathered tinder and kindling for a fire, he found his gaze wandering over her, a sort of eager pride swelling in him when he realized that soon she would be his.

When she turned and caught him staring at her, she raised an eyebrow but then merely continued her work preparing a fire. He cleared his throat and turned away, instead bending down to remove the provisions he had packed so that they wouldn’t have to concern themselves with hunting on their short journey. Undoing the napkin bundle, he separated the loaf of crusty bread and the smoked ram meat into two portions, topping each with some of the fresh herbs he had also brought along.

The crackling of a fire interrupted the silence of the clearing, and he turned a smile to the sight of her carefully tending the fire she had managed to start.

“Here, lass,” he said, walking to stand beside her and holding out one of the meals he had prepared.

“Thank you,” she murmured again, and she kicked some snow aside so that she could take a seat by the fire.

Rylen did the same, sitting beside her while maintaining enough distance to keep her at ease. She had acted relaxed in his company, yet he still wanted to make certain he didn’t accidentally give her cause for concern. All he wanted was a seamless transition, and for her to be comfortable.

“If it’s only a day and a half’s trek, it would have gone faster with horses,” she mused after swallowing the bite she was chewing. “Did you have any?”

Rylen chuckled. “Aye, we have them, but that would have made the _sneaking_ part harder,” he told her. “Thane Lionheart took them back with him when he left yesterday. It’s not so far we cannot manage.”

“I simply thought maybe you’d want to get back as quickly as possible,” she mused, and when he caught her eye she wiggled her eyebrows as she took another bite.

With a smirk Rylen shook his head. “I’m a patient man, there wasn’t any hurry,” he told her. “I cared more about being successful.”

“Thane Black-Wall had to use a horse when he captured his mate,” she said. “Charged into her village and pulled her up onto it without so much as a greeting before he rode off immediately, roaring his warcry the whole time. It was the talk of the area for quite a while, I remember traders at Gherlan’s Pass talking about it still when I visited several moons later.”

Rylen frowned, and then he remembered a story he had heard about the other Thane. “His mate is from a lowlander settlement, aye?”

“Aye,” she answered before she swallowed again so she could continue. “The arl agreed to the arrangement, as did she. Black-Wall had been visiting her for some time and she was quite beside herself for him. But there were others in the settlement who disapproved and one who fancied her, so when it came time Black-Wall left nothing to chance.”

“You know the story well,” Rylen mused.

“I like Josephine, we spent many days together and she told me all sorts of stories,” she explained. Then a wicked gleam came into her eyes and she smiled. “Although depending on who you ask, she told me too many things.”

Rylen raised an eyebrow as he considered the playful way she said it, the soft giggles that followed her assertion. “Is she the reason you know Common so well, lass?”

“My father taught me Common, from the time I was young, as his father did before him,” she explained. “But once Josephine bonded to Black-Wall, I learned even more, and she could answer the questions I’d always had about lowlanders from my travels. Things my father could not explain, and that I knew better not to ask traders about. I think she liked being able to talk to someone about it all. She’s happy among our people, but I think sometimes she was lonely and missed her old ways.”

Rylen nodded, smiling softly to himself at the way she almost lit up when she spoke, the way she was telling him these stories so easily. She seemed relaxed, though she stared pensively into the fire now that she had finished the food he had given her.

After several moments of silence she glanced up. “Do you speak any Common?” she asked, a slight frown quirking her brow, though she seemed eager for his answer.

“Some,” he told her. “Enough to make simple trades and reassure lowlanders I come upon during hunts that I mean no harm, when that is the case.”

Abigeál giggled and played with the end of one of her braids. “Am I to teach you Common before next winter, then? As part of our arrangement?”

“If you’d like,” he told her.

He watched as she frowned, absorbed in how she was twirling the strands of her hair around her fingers. She almost looked as if she wanted to ask him something, but before he could ask her what was on her mind she stood. With a furtive glance at him she gestured into the trees and then smiled before hurrying off.

For several moments Rylen merely sat staring into the flames, letting his mind wander. The few doubts he had had were slowly dissipating, thinking on the way she was acting towards him. He had worried she had agreed but hadn’t really wanted to, but she didn’t seem bothered at all by his presence. In fact there were times she looked at him and almost looked - pleased.

The prospect was thrilling.

With that thought Rylen pushed himself to his feet, intending to arrange the camp while she relieved herself. He stopped beside the bearskin and knelt, reaching to the rope it was tied with to undo and unroll it. The rope he untied easily, even though she had tied it in complicated, tight knots, and he began to unroll the pelt so that they could use it for their rest.

As it unfurled a frown came across his face, staring at the small trinkets he found within, some of which glimmered in the flickering firelight, a few that looked like toys, others carved bits of wood or other materials.

“Wait!”

Glancing up he saw Abigeál standing in the clearing once more, staring at him with her mouth gaping, eyebrows furrowed.

“I - I’m sorry, lass, I was trying to make camp,” he hurried to assure her. “I thought it was just your trophy, I didn’t think…”

He trailed off, watching the careful way she walked forward and knelt beside him. She stared at the collection of trinkets before she gave him a sidelong, furtive look as she gulped. Her reaction had him curious, and his frown deepened.

“I am sorry, lass, I wasn’t trying to pry,” he told her.

“It’s - it’s all right,” she said softly. “I just - I suppose I didn’t know what you’d - think.”

He looked between her and the assorted curios, and then laughed. “I think they’re items you brought with us,” he told her. “Am I mistaken?”

She bit her lip, but a few giggles slipped from her throat to join his deeper, louder ones. “No, you’re right,” she agreed. “I just - they’re - silly. I thought maybe you’d think them pointless and ask me to get rid of them.”

Rylen stared at her for a moment, then began to shake his head, incredulous. “Lass, they’re your belongings to do with as you choose,” he told her. “Though I will admit to a fair amount of curiosity.”

He reached for one of the items, a carved wooden statuette, and studied what appeared to be a woman in robes. When he raised his gaze to hers once more, he saw a wide-eyed, almost timid look on her face. She reached a hand out for it, and he carefully passed it over, watching the tender way she ran her thumb over it.

“Lass? Have I offended?”

“No,” she said softly. “I’m just not quite certain how to explain myself.”

“Are they things you intend to trade? Valuables, perhaps?” he asked.

“Not in the way you mean,” she answered, frowning as she worried her bottom lip, deep in thought. “In Common there’s a word - _sentimental_. It - it means - it’s hard to explain in our terms. It’s a sense of - tenderness, even happiness associated with a - a place, or a belonging. An attachment to it, that makes you want to keep it, even if it serves no purpose. They’re valuable to you because of how they make you feel, memories that they conjure when you see them.”

Rylen frowned, trying to understand the word as she explained it, thinking of the way it had sounded when she had spoken the word in Common. He watched as she continued to run a finger along the carving, wondering at what memory or feeling that particular item seemed to be inspiring inside of her.

With a shake of her head she reached for the trinkets in the middle of the pelt, trying to gather them together. “Sorry, I’ll -”

“There’s room in my pack, lass,” he told her, and he reached for his leather satchel. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

She stared at him for a moment, then blinked several times and nodded her head. “Th-thank you,” she said.

He pulled the fur he had packed from the satchel and then held it out for her, keeping it open while she carefully moved the curios. When she had finished she met his gaze and smiled; that same sweet, pleased smile she had given him when he had agreed to bring the pelt with them. He returned the gesture, though the look in her eyes set his heart to racing, and he could feel the blood rushing to his loin.

Clearing his throat he stood and instead shook out the fur, watching as she straightened the pelt now that it was fully unrolled. “You can sleep closest to the fire, lass,” he told her.

She knelt on the pelt and looked up at him, a curious, almost suggestive gleam coming into her eye. Ignoring the way it only further stirred the desire that had decided to rear its head once more, he stepped around the pelt and took his place on the other side. He drew the fur up and glanced at her expectantly, waiting for her to lie down beside him.

After only a moment that seemed to be spent in hesitant indecision, she scrambled and climbed atop him before he registered what she was doing. She rested her hands above his shoulders on the pelt, leaning over him as she slowly, teasingly rolled her hips where they rested on his.

The struggle with his own show of desire was lost in an instant, and he felt himself harden as she repeated the gesture. A wicked gleam came into her dark eyes, and she began to lean toward him.

“Lass,” he warned, but she merely giggled as she again rubbed herself against him. “You are not mine, yet.”

She shrugged, her breath warm on his face. “There are other ways to test one another before that,” she purred. “Let me touch you, or kiss me - tomorrow you claim me but I haven’t even felt your lips on mine.”

As she said it she increased the pace with which she moved her hips, drawing a soft moan from both of them. He felt his reasoning slipping more than a little, and yet the sight of her eyelashes fluttering as she was driven wild by the simple way he had withheld his kiss excited him. If he waited longer, how much more desperately would she want this, want him? He hadn’t even realized just how much she did until he felt the way she was trying to excite them both by rubbing herself where she could feel his hard arousal.

_Not yet._

For some reason, he found himself wanting to savor it, to enjoy the claiming and truly make her his in every way - the following night.

In one swift motion he unseated her and rolled over on top of her, pinning her with the full length of his body so that she couldn’t continue the way she had rolled her hips against him. The excited, eager look in her eyes almost undid him, but he kept his resolve as he leaned down to brush his nose against hers. Her breath caught and she tilted her head up, silently begging him for his kiss.

He held his position for a moment longer before he chuckled and pressed a quick kiss to the tip of her nose. “We should get some rest, lass,” he told her. “After all, we have a long day - and night - ahead of us tomorrow.”

The indignant pout with which she met his words made him chuckle, and he held her for a moment longer before he rolled off of her and resumed his side of the pelt. He pulled the fur up over both of them, watching as she turned with a huff away from him.

For a long time he merely lay staring up at the sky, thinking over the day, musing over the day to come. When she shifted and rolled to face him, he was surprised to find that she was still awake as well.

A soft frown came to her as she studied him. After several moments spent staring at one another, she lowered her gaze and reached tentatively with a hand to his chest. “Did you - did you make the suggestion? I mean - ask for this arrangement? Or was it the Thane?” she asked softly.

Rylen’s eyebrows rose, and he considered her for a moment before he smiled. “I asked,” he told her. “The Thane arranged it on my behalf, because I - asked him to.”

Something changed in her gaze, a hesitant, tender quirk pulling up the corners of her mouth. He raised his arm, silently offering the space beside him, and she scooted closer and rested her head on his shoulder.

Lowering his arm around her, he placed his hand at her waist and pulled her to him, nestling her to his side. They fell back into silence, Rylen still staring above him, although his gaze was drawn frequently to the sight of how peaceful she looked in her slumber.

He wondered a little at her question, but he supposed that his refusal of her advances had made her think he didn’t really want her. A smirk came to him as he thought about how wrong that notion was, thinking on how in five winters’ time he hadn’t longed for anyone like this. Since that day spent hunting, when she had playfully rebuffed his demand for a kiss, he hadn’t been able to think straight when he remembered her.

With a frown he thought of the feeling he had had when he decided to adorn his armor with the bear claws they had split, and he remembered her description of how she felt about her trinkets. The claws had always reminded him of the gleam in her eye, the humor and fire that seemed to live inside her, and realized that he had felt that word she had described to him every time he saw them. The daily sight of the claws and the knowledge they were a part of his daily garb had warmed him with desires for her, until he had finally caved and approached Cullen, willing to bear the man’s knowing smirk if it meant he could have her.

Glancing down at her sleeping form curled against him, head resting on his shoulder, he smiled as he thought about the next night, about what it would mean.

“Mine, Abigeál,” he whispered, and he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead before he closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Slán agat - goodbye (to a person who is staying)  
> Màmag - mama


	4. The Claiming

“Here, lass - stop here,” he said, holding out a hand before her to encourage her to heed his words.

Abi stopped, glancing up at him with a slight frown. They had woken with the dawn, and again he had given her food he had brought along before they packed up their camp and set out. Now the sun was high in the sky, and the trees were thinning as if they were beginning to emerge from the forest they had walked through since yesterday. In the distance she almost thought she could hear a babbling, though whether of a stream or something else she couldn’t determine. Otherwise, everything was just as peaceful as it had been the entire morning.

She waited for an explanation, wondering at his sudden insistence that they stop walking. Rylen shifted and adjusted the satchel and rolled pelt slung over his back, chuckling softly as he did so. He turned to face her, a smirk on his face, but he noticed her frown.

“We’re almost there,” he told her. When she continued to frown he shook his head and merely stooped, wrapping his strong arms around her and hauling her over his shoulder once more.

The sudden inversion of her world made her gasp, trying to grab hold of something on his back to hold herself steady. She hadn’t thought that he would need to carry her into his village as well, as if she were spoils from a hunt or battle. With the addition of her large pelt on his back, he must seem as if he had had a most successful endeavor, and the notion made her giggle.

“Try to act a little less delighted that I captured you, lass,” he chided, and he reached up and lightly tapped her rear with his large hand. The action only brought more giggles, but they were quickly replaced by a soft gasp as he took the opportunity to slide his hand under the furs at her waist so that he could squeeze a handful of her through her breeches.

Just as soon as she wiggled in his hold he removed his hand, deep chuckles reverberating through him as he turned to continue on his way. All morning he had teased her, which had confused her after the way he had so stalwartly rejected her attempts to try him out before they sought their rest. She wondered at his insistence to wait until the claiming. The anticipation to discover him was driving her absolutely wild, the whole day resisting the urge to squeeze her thighs together to emphasize the way she was throbbing from longing.

The action, however brief, of him cupping the round cheek of her rear hadn’t helped, and she chewed her lip as she bounced slightly with each long stride he took. Her mind had moved from humorous observation at being carried like this once more to imaginings of what he might look like under all this armor, acutely aware of even the smell of him. Leather, sweat, and something like sandalwood that barely lingered all flooded her senses from the way she was dangling over him. She bit her lip harder to resist moaning, unable to focus on anything but his nearness, the feeling of his broadness beneath her, and she wondered almost if that was part of his intent in carrying her so.

The snow she could see from this angle began to lighten, no longer tinted grey from the shade of the trees. The now blinding snow made her clench her eyes shut tight, and she buried her face into the furs and satchel, only to be assaulted once more by the tantalizing scent of him.

How much longer now?

The babbling she had been unable to discern was becoming clearer, and she realized it was no stream or rushing river, but instead the bustle of a settlement. It became louder, and she found herself wondering just how large his tribe was.

“Ready, lass?” he asked, slowing slightly in his quick pace.

“Aye,” she answered, though her heart leapt into her throat and she found herself trying to take deep, steadying breaths as she wondered what lay in store for her.

Rylen shifted and almost seemed to stand straighter, again tightening his hold on her as he resumed his long strides forward. Abi raised her head and tried to look around, watching as they passed through the gate of a large palisade.

A few shouts of greeting met them, laughter and congratulations, as well as a few bellowed whoops. Rylen chuckled and positively strutted, calling a few greetings and returning a few of the cheers as he occasionally patted her rear with a hand. Every time he did she squirmed, need still coiling deep inside her.

What had she gotten herself into? He’d barely done anything to her, and yet she was aching and wet, mind racing with anticipation for what was to come.

“Rylen - welcome home,” a booming voice greeted, and she realized she recognized it as Thane Lionheart’s. “Come, let us see this bride you captured and brought to us.”

Rylen gently lowered and placed Abi on her feet, making certain she stood steady before he turned her, presenting her to his people.

Before her was the Thane, standing with his arms folded as he smirked and looked her over. Beside him was a woman with eyes that were almost white, thick braids of midnight hair adorned with feathers and beads. She wore carefully painted blue markings on her face, and the entire effect strangely emphasized the paleness of her gaze as she observed Abi carefully. An involuntary shudder went through Abi at the way the eyes seemed to see through her, even though she knew the woman was simply a powerful mage, much like her mother.

Another woman, white braids framing her face and many wrinkles around her piercing aqua eyes was standing before her as well. The eyes Abi recognized immediately, and she noticed the kind way they were roaming over her. A tall man with lightly grey-streaked, chestnut hair and a striking resemblance to Rylen stood behind her, arms folded as he frowned at her, giving her a thorough perusal.

“My Thane, I’ve brought to you Abigeál Maelsdotten O Rifthold,” Rylen declared behind her, stepping forward and inclining his head as he gave a salute across his chest.

Thane Lionheart watched her for a moment, his amber eyes holding her gaze intently before he nodded curtly. “And by morrow, she will be Abigeál Maelsdotten O Valehold,” he returned, reaching out a hand to Rylen. The pair grasped one another’s forearms, and the blessing thus given, the Thane looked to the women standing beside him. “Prepare her, for tonight Rylen the Relentless claims his mate.”

The kind eyes of Rylen’s mother lit up as she stepped forward, and the mage and another woman did as well. Taking Abi by the hand, their gentle touches resting on her back and arms, they turned her and led her down the path. As they led her away she glanced over her shoulder at Rylen, giving him a smirk as she thought about the next time they would see one another. He was watching her just as hungrily as she was him, and the sight made her throb and her knees weaken so that she nearly stumbled.

The three women escorted her to a large hut, leading her inside and to the middle of the common area. They stepped around to face her, smiling brightly.

“Céad míle fáilte, Abigeál. I am Rylen’s mother, Elinor,” the older woman greeted her, and the wrinkles around her eyes became pronounced as she smiled. “This is my eldest son’s mate, Cait,” she gestured at a tall woman with long golden braids who had followed them, “and this is Evelyn Stormbringer, mate of Thane Lionheart and one of our clan’s shamans.”

Abi nodded a greeting to each of them, feeling both comforted by the kind, welcoming looks on their faces and nervous at the prospect of being alone with his family.

“You’ve been traveling all morning, are you hungry?” Elinor inquired, frowning as she reached for Abi’s satchel to take it from her. “You have many hours to prepare, we have ram stew on the fire and warm furs for you to rest upon.”

“Stew would be delicious, thank you,” Abi said, smiling at the woman.

Elinor and Cait continued removing Abi’s belongings and weapons, setting them carefully aside so that they could help her out of her furs and armor as well. The entire time they worked, Evelyn Stormbringer watched, one hand resting on the rounded belly that Abi only just now noticed protruding from beneath her layered, dark, fur-trimmed woolen robes. Once Abi was out of her armor, down to hide breeches and her woolen shirt, Elinor draped her in a thick, fur-lined cape, bundling her in its layers.

Evelyn stepped forward, still looking at Abi in her quiet, unnerving way. She was petite as well, just as Abi was for their people, but there was such an easy confidence and grace in her it was easy to forget her slighter frame. Her pale eyes moved over Abi’s face, but a sudden, bright smile parted her lips. With one thin hand she reached up to Abi’s cheek, brushing a few stray hairs off of it before cupping it gently. “Your journey was not long, but did you run into any trouble? Rest will help, but we would not have you face your claiming with injuries or illness.”

Abi smiled but shook her head. “I am uninjured and quite well, but thank you, Evelyn Stormbringer,” she rejected graciously, inclining her head slightly.

The mage tittered, lightly tapping Abi’s cheek before she lowered her hand again. “Evelyn is fine, Abigeál,” she corrected softly. “If you have no need of healing, I will leave you to your rest. I will return later, for the preparations.”

Evelyn nodded at the other two women and then turned, almost gliding out of the room as if she wasn’t burdened with child. Abi watched her departure before facing her hosts, smiling timidly. Elinor took her by the arm and led her to a place before the crackling fire, encouraging her to take a seat. Cait appeared at her side with a wooden bowl full of steaming, thick ram stew. Abi’s mouth watered as she realized just how hungry she was, and she gratefully accepted it and eagerly began to eat.

The other women worked quietly around the hut, but any time they caught Abi’s eye they smiled. When she had finished eating and had drained a waterskin, Elinor helped her to her feet and led her to a quiet corner of the hut where a pile of furs rested atop a small cot. She lifted the cape from Abi’s shoulders and then helped her remove the rest of her travel-worn clothes and boots. Once stripped bare Abi climbed into the cot, burying herself in the furs with a murmur of thanks to the older woman.

Tenderly Elinor brushed her cheek with her knuckles and bade her to rest.

To Abi’s surprise, she slumbered peacefully, exhausted from the journey and tensions of the previous few days. She had hardly been home from her journey to Gherlen’s Pass before she had had to travel unexpectedly by foot, and the chance to rest was a welcome relief.

A soft murmur of her name and a hand stroking her hair pulled her from her deep slumber, and she blinked blearily up into bright aqua eyes. Another blink and she realized the eyes were surrounded by wrinkles that crinkled with a smile, as if a lifetime of smiles lingered on the face at all times.

“Time to wake up, young one,” Elinor greeted her. “We must prepare you.”

Abi rubbed at her eyes and pushed herself up on the cot, reluctant to leave the warmth of the many furs she had been snuggled in. Elinor held up the fur-lined cape, wrapping it around her once more when she had finally dragged herself from the cot.

Again she was led to the fire, only this time Cait handed her a small wooden board bearing a roll of crusty bread, a few pieces of aged cheese, and a few choice fruits. Abi stared at the food where it perched on her knees, a sudden flare of nerves ruining any appetite that she may have. As if the other woman understood, Cait passed her a small wooden cup filled with spiced wine, winking when Abi met her gaze with an appreciative smile.

After draining the cup, she tried to eat what she could, nibbling the cheese and picking apart the bread before she set it all aside. The nerves were surprising to her - he would not be the first man between her legs, and she wanted, absolutely craved what was to come that night. But everything else, the arrangement, the expectations - she worried over what was to come, beyond the claiming.

And she was more than a little unnerved by the way he had kept himself from her entirely, wondering if perhaps he did not truly desire her, despite his body’s response the night before. It was strange to her that she wished so desperately for him to want her, and the fact that he had hardly touched her made her wonder and worry over what would happen when he claimed her.

Would she be bored? Would he treat it as duty? Had he not, in fact, requested the arrangement as he said? These and more concerns her mind continued to conjure, until she found herself merely staring into the fire.

Once they had noticed she was done eating, Cait helped her to her feet and led her around a wooden partition. Behind it was a large metal tub, and Evelyn was scattering herbs into the water before she lowered her hand to its surface. Her magic flared, heating the water until it was steaming, filling the space with the floral, woody scents of the herbs that floated in the bath.

The water now heated, Evelyn straightened once more and moved to stand before Abi. She smiled and gave a reassuring wink before she began to remove the cape they had wrapped around Abi’s shoulders. Cait and Elinor took her hands, helping her step into the bath and encouraging her to sink into the welcome heat of the water.

The three women began their work, undoing the long braids her hair was laced in, using cloths and bars of scented soap to clean her skin. Evelyn kept the water heated when it cooled, and instructed Abi to slip beneath its surface to wet her hair. A floral smelling oil, reminiscent of the perfumes made from Andraste’s Grace and Dawn Lotus she had seen Orlesian traders sell, was then applied to her hair. Evelyn’s fingers were thin but strong, deftly massaging the oil into Abi’s scalp and hair until she felt quite at peace under the women’s attentive ministrations.

Her skin was glowing from the scrubbing it had received and the oils that had been applied after, dark hair gleaming and emanating the beautifully intoxicating scents of her bath. Elinor and Cait helped her stand once more, supporting her as she stepped carefully over the tub’s edge so that they could dry her with cloths before once more wrapping her in the fur-lined cape and fur slippers. She was led to sit beside the fire once more, her back to it to help dry her hair as Elinor used a wooden comb to detangle the long strands. Evelyn carefully took a seat beside Abi, looking her over before she reached for her hand.

“This is your first bond, is it not?” she asked.

“Aye,” Abi answered, feeling her insides twist once more.

Evelyn squeezed her fingers, giving her a smile that had an almost mischievous quality to it. “I think you will be content, here,” she assured her. “Do not be afraid.”

“Aye, she is right, child,” Elinor agreed, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Trust me.”

Abi merely nodded, not quite certain how to express her thoughts amongst strangers. They were kind, but she didn’t know how they would interpret her worries, her desires. And so she simply sat, holding Evelyn’s hand as Elinor smoothed her hair while talking with the other two women about their own memories, giggling at recollections of their claimings, to which Abi hardly paid attention.

Finally Evelyn released her and pushed herself to her feet, struggling slightly before she managed it. She reached a hand to Abi and helped her up as well, turning her so that they were facing one another.

“Abigeál,” she began, her delicate voice clear in the silence of the hut. “It is time.”

Abi nodded, chewing her lip for a moment as Elinor lifted her hands, pushing back the edge of the cape that was draped over her arms. She held her hands as Evelyn fixed her wrists with soft, supple leather cuffs linked together with a chain, and then both women squeezed her fingers gently before releasing her.

Evelyn led the way out of the hut and through the firelit village, past members of the tribe who stopped to watch the short procession. Elinor and Cait walked beside Abi, but she kept her gaze fixed forward, trying to keep her breath and the racing of her heart under control. Anticipation and apprehension vied for her attention, but she turned her focus instead to the delicious excitement and need coiling inside of her.

The sound of drumming and chanting came from somewhere beyond the hut they led her to, and Evelyn opened the door, stepping aside so that Abi could be escorted inside by Rylen’s kin. She hardly took notice of her surroundings, of the furnishings of the room beyond a large bed that rested against the furthest wall. As they led her to it she noticed that it was covered by her large bear pelt, lying in wait to offer her up to be claimed as trophy herself.

Elinor led her to the bed, and Cait removed the cape, and she felt a chill come over her despite the braziers that had been moved closer to the bed. They guided her down onto the pelt, helping situate her in the middle before they linked the cuffs to a spot on the wooden headboard, leaving her arms raised above her. Vulnerable and bared thusly, they gave her reassuring smiles before they turned and left the hut.

Her heart was racing, but it felt more like exquisite agony as she lay so exposed, waiting for him to come to her. She rubbed her legs together, worrying her lip as she struggled with the wait, the apprehensions that overcame her once more. He had yet to even kiss her, and the unknown of him, the mystery of what sort of man was going to claim her was only building the desperate, throbbing sensations between her legs. This was the act she longed for, the reason she had agreed to his offer, and the memories of all of their teasing the few times they had been together had her almost writhing where she lay.

The door finally opened, and it took her several moments to realize that the drumming had stopped simply to be replaced by the rapid thudding of her heart.

Rylen walked into the hut, closing the door gently behind him before he slowly stalked forward. His chestnut waves were loose, two braids along his scalp pulling some back on either side of his head. He wore no paint, but in addition to the tattoos on his face he had more on his thick arms and the vast expanse of his chest. The firelight caught each ripple of his muscles as he stalked forward, a dark dusting of hair across his chest drawing her eyes to where it converged into a thin trail that led lower. But what she wanted to see was obscured by the fawn-colored furs he wore slung around his waist, dangling and swinging with his slow strides forward.

Hunger was only one word for the way he was looking at her, positively devouring the sight of her prone form as he stopped at the end of the bed. She devoured the sight of him in turn, stretching her legs and relishing the way the sharp prickle of fur felt against skin that was begging to be touched. Her wrists twisted slightly in the cuffs, and as she watched him ravish her with aqua eyes she felt a wicked need to tease him as he had so cruelly done to her the night before.

Abi bent her knees, parting her thighs to expose herself to him, letting him see just how much his captive longed for this, how much she was already throbbing and dripping nectar from the sight of him. His eyes immediately dipped where she longed for them to, a noticeable intake of breath accompanying the action as he took in the view she so brazenly offered him. Without a word he knelt on the bed, his large hands gripping her knees to hold them apart.

A soft whimper escaped her against her will when he met her gaze again, and a slow smirk spread across his face. He still hadn’t removed his furs and she longed to see him, to feel him, even just the feeling of his strong fingers on her knees almost too much to bear.

“Please,” she gasped finally, hating the desperation that was making her ask, but she felt the need to tell him, to show him further that she wanted him to make his claim.

“I want you to really know what it is to be _mine_ , Abigeál,” he said finally, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down her spine.

Before she could even begin to think of a response, to do anything more than moan at the sound of her name rolling off his tongue, he shifted on the bed. Without warning his head was between her legs, his hands grasping her thighs to hold them spread.

The first lick of his tongue was like fire, and a strangled scream escaped her at the sensation. It was completely unknown and unexpected, the feeling of hot breath and a slick tongue against the swollen, oversensitive pearl no one but her had ever discovered. Her hips bucked in response to the way he lapped at her, and he moved a hand from her thigh to her stomach in an attempt to hold her still.

Rocking his mouth against her he swirled his tongue, again and again running it over the spot that sent tremors throughout her entire body. He moved lower, sliding his tongue into her, licking at and catching the nectar that still poured from her before he again ran it over her aching pearl. His hands tightened their hold on her, trying to hold her in place in response to her escalating cries. He caught her between his lips, alternately sucking and licking until she almost thought she would faint.

Her release came upon her after building to a fevered, tumultuous crescendo, incoherent and gasped screams loud enough to wake the village slipping from her throat as she writhed beneath him. When she sobbed desperately he finally raised his head, releasing her just as quickly as he had buried his face between her legs. Their eyes met, and Abi felt her breath stolen again at the intense, hungry way he was watching her.

Whatever doubts she had had about his desires were gone, amazed at a man who would do what he had just done as part of his claim on her.

When he finally reached to unfasten the furs she watched eagerly as his deft fingers undid the ties, her limbs still shaking in response to the way she had fallen apart so completely. The sight of him finally bare as he tossed aside the furs, the sight of him hard and eagerly pointing at her removed any exhaustion from her, and she spread her legs once more. A whimper escaped her as she strained against the cuffs; delicious, agonizing anticipation to be filled by him flooding through her as he stretched himself over her with slow, feline grace.

“Is that what you want?” he asked, bright eyes commanding her full attention. “Do you want to be _mine_ , Abigeál?”

“I - I do,” she gasped. “Yours - take what’s yours, please. _Please_.”

He grasped her jaw with one hand, still holding her gaze. “Say my name as I claim you, lass, so they know you’re mine. And remember - be loud,” he instructed her with a smirk. “After all, it’s for the gods.”

She nodded eagerly, heart racing and legs shaking as he sat back and lifted her hips into his lap. He kept his gaze fixed on her face as he took himself in hand and slowly rubbed the tip of his hard cock along her slit. She shuddered, gasping as she tried to roll her hips closer to him. A soft chuckle met her desperation, and he kept his eyes locked on hers as he finally guided himself to her entrance.

The torturous pace with which he filled her made her cry out, keenly feeling every bit of him as he entered her. He stopped; deep, ragged breaths counting a few moments before he smiled at the way she whined. “What will you be, lass?”

“Yours,” she breathed immediately.

“Mine,” he agreed in a growl, and with that he began moving.

Every thrust felt like a brand, every movement pushing her closer and closer to a feeling she hadn’t ever fully realized with anyone else. Just lads, fumbling, eager lads looking for a few moments of fun - that was all there ever had been. But now, agile fingers moved to rub gently at her pearl, just a ghosting touch at first as if he knew she was still aching from how he had made her fall apart once already.

The slap of flesh against flesh accompanied each thrust, gasped moans marking every roll forward, sobs lamenting every pull back. His breaths came out as ragged growls, letting her know he was enjoying his claim as much as he was working to make her. As her cries became more desperate he increased the pressure of his fingers, working to coax her to another release while his avid gaze stayed fixed on her face.

“R-Rylen,” she mewled, squirming and writhing when he pulled his fingers from her suddenly.

“Again,” he commanded, “louder.”

She screamed his name, chanting it as a prayer to the gods mingled with the word ‘yours,’ not caring at all that the gods alone were not the only ones who would hear her. His fingers returned their attention to her, and she struggled to keep her eyes open, her gaze on his as if silently compelled by him to do so. He was watching her so intently she felt obligated to let him see her, let him watch how she enjoyed it as he took her - and she felt certain that was what he wanted.

“Rylen!” she screamed as she came apart, back arching and legs wrapping tightly around him.

He let out a roar as he followed her over the edge, fingers digging into her hips as he pushed deep with a few jerky thrusts. She watched wide-eyed and still hazy with pleasure as he found his release within her, the new, unfamiliar feeling of his hot spend filling her as she continued to throb lightly around him.

When he had stilled at last he loosed his grip on her, instead slowly, tenderly running his hands along her sides. He shifted without pulling himself from her, leaning over her and finally pressing his full weight and heat against her flushed and dewy skin.

“I think I finally earned my token, lass,” he purred, and he grasped her jaw once more as he lowered his mouth to hers.

Just as everything else, his kiss was fiery intensity, stealing every panted breath she took as he delved his tongue in to explore and taste her. She lost herself to his passion, eagerly twisting her lips and sliding her tongue in an ardent dance with his.

After what could have been eternity, he raised his head and peered down at her, running a thumb over her lips. One last gentle kiss to her forehead and he reached up to finally remove the cuffs that bound her. As soon as she was freed she wrapped her arms around his neck, twisting her fingers into his hair so that she could pull him back down to her for another desperate kiss.

If this was what it meant to be his, then she was incredibly glad she had accepted this arrangement.

 

* * *

 

Exhaustion weighed her limbs heavily, the warmth of furs around her too tempting to remain in, and she wondered why she was awake. And then she felt it, the heat of a large body against her back, rough fingers trailing down her stomach as she was shifted to give them better access. Her new position made her keenly aware of the hard length pressed against her rear, and a soft moan slipped from her.

“Wake up lass,” Rylen breathed in her ear. “It’s after dawn, and I’d have you again before I start the day.”

“Rylen, we -” she began to protest, but she cut off in a whimper as his fingers found what he was looking for. All objections about how many times he had taken her already or how late into the night they had stayed up exploring one another died in her throat. She was already trembling in response to the way he was stroking her, and when he reached lower she realized just how ready and willing she was.

Rolling her over onto her stomach he took his place behind her, his hands on the curves of her rear moving and angling her so that he could slip inside of her. With a gasp she clutched at the fur beneath her, fingers trying desperately to find a hold as he began moving.

Each thrust made her feel as if she saw stars, mewling cries rising in volume as his hips rolled and rocked into hers. He reached around the front of her once more, slipping his hand under her so that he could resume the stroking of his fingers against her.

Just as she had every time, she sobbed his name as she fell apart, writhing beneath him as he slammed into her with a bellowed cry. For several moments they were still, his hands gently grasping and kneading her rear. Once he’d regained his senses he leaned over her, tugging her earlobe between his teeth, smiling against her when she let out a soft sigh.

“Aye, that’s the way to start the day,” he said, and then he pressed a kiss to her cheek and left her, clambering off the bed.

Abi rolled over and watched as he stretched and walked around the hut, pulling on hide breeches and his heavy fur and leather boots. She should get out of bed, she knew, but a part of her wondered if she would be given a day of rest. If anything, she felt as if she needed one.

Heaving a sigh she pushed herself up, looking around for her belongings and realizing she didn’t know where they were. One of his large wool shirts lay nearby and she picked it up to pull on for the time being, until she found her own clothes.

“You can stay in bed for now, lass,” he told her, glancing up from where he was putting another log on the central fire. “I’ll bring you something to eat -”

The door to the hut opened and a bright, squealing laugh heralded the arrival of a young boy. He raced into the hut, just a blur of dark hair and furs as he threw himself at Rylen, who turned to scoop him into his arms in one swift movement.

Abi stared speechless, a frown on her face as she watched Rylen spin the child and then dangle him upside down.

“Dadaidh!” the little lad squealed. “Dadaidh put me down!”

“What did I tell you about knocking this morning, or waiting for your seanmhair?” Rylen chided, though a bright smile was on his face as he continued to playfully swing the lad around.

“I wanted to meet her! Seanmhair said I could,” the child protested.

“Aye, I’m certain she meant _later_ , though,” Rylen corrected, rolling his eyes. But he turned the lad right side up once more and set him down. “All right, all right, come here.”

Abi kept her gaze fixed on the child as he was led to her, feeling quite unable to speak. Thick black waves of hair glistened in the firelight, and when he looked up at her there was pure joy reflected in golden brown eyes.

“Malcolm,” Rylen said, “this is Abigeál.” He turned a bright smile to Abi, gesturing a hand down to the lad. “Abigeál, this is Malcolm. He’s my -”

“Son,” she finished for him, and she stared between Rylen and the child for a moment before she managed to shake herself. Looking away from the frown Rylen was giving her she turned instead to the lad, forcing what she hoped was a kind smile. “It’s - nice to meet you, Malcolm.”

“Dadaidh says you killed that bear,” he pointed to the pelt on the bed, and she tried not to think about what other purpose the trophy had now served. “He told me all about it, said you were a great hunter -”

“Did he, now?” she interrupted his babbling, finally raising her gaze to Rylen’s. She couldn’t tell if the sheepishness on his face was because of what his son had said - or what Rylen hadn’t.

“Aye, he did!” Malcolm confirmed. “Maybe you can show me how to hunt like that. Dadaidh said you might once you came to live with us.”

“All right, lad, come on now,” Rylen said. He gestured for his son to turn around. “Leave the lass alone for a bit, she’s likely too tired for your questions.”

Malcolm shot another bright, cheerful look over his shoulder and waved at her. He skipped over to a corner of the hut, opening a cabinet to look for something, but Abi managed to drag her gaze away from him to peer up at Rylen instead.

“You - you have a son?” she asked, trying to keep the accusation out of her voice.

“Aye,” he answered. He frowned at the look on her face, taking a few steps closer. “Are you - are you all right?”

“You didn’t think to tell me that I’d - what, been stolen away to raise your wee one for you?” she challenged, staring up at him as she fought the emotions crashing through her.

His frown sharpened and he looked over his shoulder at Malcolm before facing her once more. “Lass, that’s not it at all,” he assured her. “I didn’t claim you because I need help with him. In fact, I - I didn’t tell you so that you wouldn’t think that was why. I was about to, once I’d fed you, but - well, he’s always been a wee bit impatient.”

“So that’s - that’s not why?” she asked, watching his face carefully as he shook his head in answer. “I - I’m sorry, i-it’s fine. Just a surprise, that’s all.”

Rylen studied her face for a moment before he nodded. “Aye, sorry about that,” he told her. “The wee lad was just anxious to meet you. He’ll be - that is, for our first moon he’ll be with my family at night, give us time to settle in.”

Abi nodded rather jerkily, still trying to come to terms with it all. Despite herself she wanted to ask more questions, to ask what had happened to the child’s mother, coming to terms with the truth that she was not his first bondmate. Then again she hadn’t expected to be, considering she could tell he was much older than her. But the sight of living, real proof that she wasn’t the first had still left her slightly shaken, though she wasn’t certain why.

Taking a deep breath she tugged at the hem of the shirt she was now incredibly grateful she had pulled on. She walked toward where Rylen and Malcolm were both working in the same area of the hut, setting up a board with a selection of vittles.

“Do you like apples?” Malcolm asked when he saw her approach.

“Aye, I - I do,” she answered.

“Me too,” he agreed, and he held out a shiny, red apple to her. “We won’t have them much longer, dadaidh said they can’t grow when it’s cold.”

Abi nodded, taking a bite of the apple more as something to do than because she was hungry.

“Careful, Malcolm,” Rylen chided as the lad tried to pick up the wooden board.

“Will you sit by me?” Malcolm asked as he managed to balance the food-laden tray.

Abi nodded yet again, still trying to wrap her mind around everything. She followed the lad to a fur beside the fire, instinctively reaching out to help him keep the board steady as he set it down.

The three of them took their places on the fur, Abi tucking the large shirt around herself. Silently she continued munching on the apple, too mindful of the way Malcolm was watching her, and the pensive silence that Rylen seemed to have fallen into as he ate. A small finger on her knee made her gaze snap to the side, meeting the curious brown eyes of the child as he poked her softly.

“Abee-geeahl,” he began, struggling slightly to wrap his mouth around the name.

She giggled and shook her head. “You can call me Abi, if you like,” she told him.

He smiled brightly. “Abi!” he repeated. “That’s like màmag, Dadaidh said she was Beth but her name was really _Bethany_. I like Malcolm, though, I don’t think I’d like it shorter.”

“Eat, Malcolm,” Rylen softly chided again, holding out a breadroll.

The wee lad took it, tearing it apart with his tiny fists before he took a big bite. He glanced Abi’s way and smiled, bread showing between his teeth as he giggled. She returned the smile a little hesitantly, and then glanced at Rylen. He was still lost in some pensive musings of his own as he chewed, though when he caught her eye he offered a wink.

Taking another bite of her apple, Abi determined to finish eating quickly, hoping to find her belongings - and more importantly the small satchel of herbs she had brought along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Céad míle fáilte - a hundred thousand welcomes  
> Dadaidh - daddy  
> Seanmhair - grandmother


	5. The First Moon

Winter had arrived in the Frostbacks in full force, and with it came freezing gales that blew heaps of snow through the village. Piles of fluffy white powder built around the huts all night and day, creating a frozen obstacle no matter how many times a day the area before the door was cleared. As the first blizzard came upon them, there was little to do but hunker down, settling in the warmth of fires and furs.

Usually this time was spent on chores they could still do, tasks that were often set aside during the thaw as they focused instead on readying for the long winter by gathering food and other resources that needed to be prepared. Reinforcing armor and making clothes, maintaining weapons, fletching arrows and restringing bows became the main focus of the tribe now, tasks that could be completed inside beside a fire. Firewood would be chopped if any more was needed, although they had spent the entirety of the thaw stockpiling as much as they could and would be fine for a few moons. Meals were still communal in the evenings, though in smaller groups, able to fit inside the larger huts while allowing everyone proximity to the fires.

One hut saw few visitors the first week of winter, as Rylen and his new mate took advantage of the raging snowstorms to barricade themselves within and seek a different sort of warmth. He was grateful for his foresight to stock the hut with provisions before he had claimed her, trusting his instinct that for a while he would be loathe to leave his bed or the company of the one who now shared it. When not resting or attending the few crucial daily chores, he was sure to be found with either head or cock buried between her legs. Each time he soaked in the soft cries and eager pleas of his name that he was able to pull from her throat with his attentions.

He had been right to think that he wouldn’t be able to stop once he had touched or tasted her. The tempting sight she had posed above him the night he captured her had almost been too much, but he had been able to tell he wouldn’t have been able to stop at a simple touch or a kiss. He hadn’t wanted to anger the gods and court bad fortune by claiming her before he should, and he had known it could have easily gotten out of hand. Besides, all of his teasing had made it more than worthwhile when he finally did claim her, watching the eager way she had continually begged for him to do so.

It was clear she hadn’t been untested, yet she still had a wide-eyed wonder in response to his touch, a surprise evident every time she came undone so easily. The sight was always thrilling to him, and he couldn’t get enough of it. Harsh winter coming upon them so soon after he’d claimed her was more welcome than he had thought possible. Such a perfect opportunity to explore one another without interruption was better timing than he could have asked for, and he made certain to take advantage of every moment of it.

As the weeks passed they finally began to emerge on occasion, finally joining others for tasks during the day and meals in the evening. Abigeál seemed slightly timid around his people and his family, mostly focusing on fletching arrows or whatever small task she chose to do on her own. In these moments Malcolm often sat by her, watching her eagerly and asking questions in the rambling innocent way of a young lad. Abigeál was kind to him, smiling softly as she answered him, but she had a reservation in her gaze and seemed to withdraw more in the presence of the child.

Rylen had noticed it, the sudden way she had seemed to close herself off the morning after the claiming. It had brought his doubts back to him, the ones that had been temporarily banished by the night lost in pleasure with her. She gave herself to him frequently, without hesitation, that much was true. Wherever they were she seemed more than ready to shift aside clothing and let him take her as soon as they had a moment, as soon as he made it clear he wanted her.

He had lost count of how many times someone had walked around a corner to catch him taking her as she bent over any nearby surface. Once she cried out so loudly before he managed to get his hand over her mouth that the Thane had come to see what the matter was, having been passing by. The man had merely smirked and chuckled, quickly excusing himself once he realized it had been a strangled cry of passion and not danger. Several times they had had to hurriedly insist that a person at the door of the hut wait, and more than once they'd been caught in the act by someone who mistook the sounds coming from within as a call for entry.

And yet outside of when he buried himself deep within her, she kept herself from him. The eager way she had smiled and told him stories so easily the night they had camped in the forest was suddenly gone, replaced instead with reticence even when they were alone.

Rylen had known it would be an adjustment, considering how little they had known one another. Yet his concerns were only increasing now that he had, indeed, made a mistake. For years now Cullen had tried to encourage him to take another mate, but he had refused, intent on focusing on his roles as Master of the Hunt and father. No other lass had caught his attention, but once he’d seen her something had changed. A long forgotten desire for companionship had overcome him, sparked by the sight of an impish smirk and teasing humor in nut-brown eyes.

Right after the hunt he had tried to brush it aside, to push away thoughts of her, but his mind had been intent to fixate on the feisty lass until he had caved. His desire for her had overshadowed his doubts and the reasons that had caused him to withhold before, and though he had at least had the foresight to insist on the arrangement as he had, he now worried even that had been too much.

Lust had clouded his reason, he felt certain of it now.

As he watched her sitting quietly in the hut one night near the end of their first moon, he found a tight pain in his chest, the cause of which he couldn’t quite decipher. Whether because he felt he had wronged her or because he was already dreading the possibility of releasing her the next winter, he couldn’t decide.

She angrily yanked at where she was fixing the seams of a pair of breeches, and he frowned as he walked over to her. Her long dark hair was pulled into just one full braid, several loose strands hanging around her face. He smiled as he brushed a few aside, wondering at the silence of most of the evening and how he could breach it, or whether he should even try.

“This - fucking - needle,” she grumbled, bending closer over the breeches. She didn’t pull away from his touch, and so he took his seat beside her on the bed.

“Do you need help, lass?” he asked, watching as she struggled with the large bone needle she held.

With a deep sigh she threw aside the breeches, throwing up her hands. “I give up, for now,” she declared. “It gives me something to do tomorrow, I suppose.”

“Restless?” he suggested, again brushing her hair behind her ear and stroking the silky strands of her braid after he had.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, but she rubbed her brow with her thin fingers. She glanced at him and gave him a small smile before she began to push herself from where she sat.

“Wait, Abigeál,” he purred, pulling her back by her wrist until she fell into his lap. “We still have a few more days to ourselves. If you’re feeling restless I think I have a cure.”

She smiled and almost melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her fingers twisted in his hair and she leaned her forehead against his. “As tempting as that sounds, I’d - I’d rather not, I’m - um,” she trailed off suddenly and he frowned.

Then he remembered the irritation that had been in her actions most of the day, the sluggish way she had pulled herself out of bed that morning. Cupping her cheek he pressed a gentle kiss to her, realizing he was torn between mild surprise and acceptance. While having another child wasn’t a primary goal, he knew it was likely to happen and had taken it into consideration when he had decided to claim her as his mate. After years of holding off taking another bondmate, he had accepted that the idea of a child, especially one with her fire, might be more than a little pleasant.

The fact that it hadn’t happened the first moon wasn’t disappointing, though, thinking of how much longer he could continue to take her as he was. There wasn’t any hurry.

“Of course, lass,” he agreed, pressing another kiss to her.

But there was a gleam in her eyes when she pulled back, and she tightened her arms around his shoulders as she shifted in his lap. He let her push him back onto the bear pelt that still rested where he had laid on the bed so he could claim her on it, and watched eagerly as she crawled over him. Several times she had initiated like this, and he reclined with his hands behind his head as he watched her, one eyebrow raised with curiosity at what she intended.

Her kiss was slow, and she pulled away frequently and shifted before she almost seemed to change her mind and returned her mouth to his. Finally he pulled away, one hand tangling in her braid so he could peer up at her.

“What is it?” he asked, holding her gaze and noticing the way she timidly chewed her lip.

“I - I was just thinking,” she said, trailing her fingers down his chest and picking nervously at the wool shirt he wore. “I mean, that is, maybe I could…”

“Could what, lass? Tell me what you want,” he encouraged.

A sly look came into her eyes and she slid her hand to the bulge resting between her thighs, palming him through his breeches until he moaned softly. “You always use your mouth on me so eagerly, and I was thinking - I mean I never have, but - you’d like it, wouldn’t you? If I tried that for you?”

His heart raced at the suggestion, at the way she was watching him so intently for his answer. He nodded, smiling at her as he felt his cock twitch slightly where she rubbed him, anticipation flooding him.

As if reassured by the way he had agreed, she moved more confidently as she kissed down his neck. She shifted back, climbing out of his lap to take her place on her knees between where his feet still rested on the floor. He propped himself on his elbows, wanting to watch her, heart leaping in his chest as her fingers easily undid the laces of his breeches.

Once he was freed she ran her hand along his cock, and though he was now familiar with her touch he still groaned, head leaning back for a moment before he quickly returned it to hers. She was staring at her fingers moving up and down his length, and with one furtive glance up at him she leaned forward to take him between her lips.

The hesitant way she was moving was endearing - exciting, even - and he let out a loud moan to gently encourage her. For several moments she simply ran her tongue over the tip of him, tasting and exploring him before she closed her lips around him. Sucking and licking at him drew another moan from his throat, and she glanced up as if checking for his approval. He offered her a breathy smile, purring her name as he nodded to reassure her.

With that encouragement she sucked harder at him, beginning to move her head to take more of him into her mouth. Occasionally she stopped, just running her tongue along him, still using her hand to stroke the bit of him she couldn’t manage to fit in her mouth. He let her move at her own pace, though he longed to lace his fingers in her hair and guide her, fighting the urge to rush this. The way she was exploring him, an almost innocent eagerness in how she took him in and out of her mouth, was exciting in its own way, and soon he was moaning more desperately.

“L-lass, I’m - I’m close, you don’t have to -” he began, and she pulled her mouth away from him.

She looked at him and then smirked, flicking her tongue out to slide over his cock, catching a few drops of salty excitement as she did. “I want to try,” she told him, and he was amazed at the breathy, aroused tone of her voice. “I like this, am I - am I doing all right?”

“Keep going and you’ll see how well you’re doing, Abigeál,” he purred, and she smiled as she swirled her tongue around him again.

She resumed bobbing her head on him, matching her pace with her hand now that she seemed to have found her rhythm and confidence. The sight of her working at him was intoxicating, the wet heat of her mouth sending ripples of tingling excitement through him. He managed to moan a warning before his vision went black, his balls tightening as he throbbed and pulsed between her lips. She slowed in her rhythm, almost seeming surprised, though she continued to suck at him as his release hit her tongue. With a soft gasp she pulled back as the last drops left him, and wiped at the bit of his spend that she hadn’t managed to swallow as it trickled out of her mouth.

Her eyes were wide though she smiled, and after a moment trying to catch his breath he pushed himself to a sitting position. Grasping her hair he pulled her to him, crushing his lips against hers and slanting his mouth desperately. The taste of himself on her tongue excited him, and for several long moments he simply held her to him, devouring her in a searing kiss.

By the gods he was lost to this, the desire for her and knowledge that she was his. Whatever his hesitations, whatever happened by the next winter, he found he couldn’t regret his decision to take her as his mate. It was only their first moon together, they were simply adjusting. Or at least that was what he told himself to explain his uncertainty and doubts. This was enough, this contentment to seek one another for pleasure.

As he curled her into his arms that night to rest, he watched as she fell asleep so easily on his shoulder, looking thoroughly content. He smiled, slowly slipping into slumber as he tried not to get ahead of himself.

Just the present, together.

Rylen wasn’t certain how long had passed in blackness before he heard high-pitched wails somewhere nearby. Sitting up with a bolt he looked around wildly and saw Malcolm hurrying to his side of the large bed.

“Dadaidh, th-the b-bad d-dreams c-came back!” Malcolm wailed, as he reached Rylen. He clambered onto the edge of the bed, holding his arms out plaintively while tears streaked down his cheeks.

“Wha’s a matter?” Abigeál slurred sleepily, pushing herself to one elbow and rubbing at an eye with her fingers.

“It’s - it’s nothing, Abigeál, go back to sleep,” Rylen hurried to assure her as he took Malcolm into his arms. “Come here, lad, it’s all right - where’s your seanmhair?”

“I wanted you,” Malcolm sobbed, but even as he said it he pushed against Rylen’s chest, resisting in his panic how his father was trying to comfort him.

“Shh, a sheòid, it’s all right,” Rylen told him, trying to tighten his hold on him. “You’re safe, it was just a dream.”

“The big man was scary,” Malcolm cried, and he looked around wildly as if whatever had frightened him in his nightmare was still around.

“Aw, did something scare you in the Land of Dreams?” Abigeál murmured, and she pushed herself so that she was sitting and could lean over to where Malcolm was still wriggling in Rylen’s hold.

“It’s all right, lass, I can take care of him,” Rylen insisted. “You can go back to sleep, I’ve got this.”

But Abigeál leaned closer to the child and gently wiped at his cheeks. “Did you run all the way over here through the snow for your dadaidh? Poor wee lad,” she cooed, still brushing aside new tears as they fell. “He’s here now, it’s all right. He’s got you, see?”

Malcolm’s cries quieted slightly into hiccups as he turned his wide brown eyes to Abigeál beside him. To Rylen’s surprise the child held his arms out to her. “C-can you hold me, Abi?” Malcolm asked, the wavering sound of tears still thick in his tiny voice.

Rylen opened his mouth to say something, still determined to keep his word, his promise that he didn’t need her help raising his son.

But while Abigeál’s eyebrows rose in surprise, a tender smile came across her face and she held out her arms invitingly. “Of course, Malcolm, come here,” she answered.

Malcolm easily slipped out of Rylen’s grasp, climbing into Abigeál’s instead and wrapping his arms around her neck. She softly hushed the tiny whimpers that still came from him as she laid back on the bed, taking the lad with her. She adjusted the furs and tucked him against her, covering them both as she snuggled him into her embrace. Soft words of assurance accompanied the way she stroked his black hair, and soon his cries quieted.

Abigeál smiled softly and then glanced up, catching Rylen’s eye and giving him a small shrug. But a frown came across her face, and he realized she must have taken in the way he was looking at her, marveling at the way she looked as she comforted his son so protectively.

He shook himself, tearing his gaze away from them so that he could settle back into the bed as well. Curling himself against his son’s back he faced Abigeál as she continued to stroke Malcolm’s hair, smiling softly when deep sighs marked the child’s return to slumber.

“Thank you, lass,” Rylen murmured.

Abigeál glanced up at him, and the look in her gaze stole his breath away. “Of course,” she breathed. With one last smile she nestled Malcolm more closely to her and then closed her eyes to seek her rest once more.

How long he lay watching her sleep as she held his son he wasn’t certain. All he knew was just how much he enjoyed the heavenly vision before him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> dadaidh - daddy  
> seanmhair - grandmother  
> a sheòid - my hero, valiant warrior


	6. The Second Moon

That the herbs had proven themselves to work, at least, was a relief to Abi. She hadn’t been able to shake the doubt that they might fail, considering the insatiable passion with which their first moon had passed.

To her surprise she found she lacked the willpower to deny him, caving the instant he looked her way and crooked his finger. Knowing that she could continue to give in and not worry about what fruits it may bear was one less worry. She didn’t like the idea that she would have to deny herself that, or come clean about her doubts and the precautions she was taking. She wasn’t entirely certain how he would respond, even though her first moon cycle had come and gone and he hadn’t been bothered or surprised that she hadn’t been with child. She had brought enough herbs to get her to the thaw, when she would be able to visit merchants again and acquire what she needed from the lowlanders. Whether or not he would be suspicious before that, she couldn’t tell.

The fact that he had a son he was clearly devoted to made her wonder if he would understand her hesitations, and occasionally she considered telling him. Rylen was kind, surprisingly tender at times, and seemed to be an intelligent, practical man. At times she found him staring at her with a soft frown on his face, and she wondered if he worried over her or their arrangement. Whatever his thoughts, though, he kept them to himself - much the same as she kept hers to herself.

His son had surprised her in a way she hadn’t expected, a feeling taking root inside of her that she couldn’t find a word to explain. It wasn’t just that she wished she had been told beforehand, it was that the sight of the lad created a tight feeling in her chest, something she hadn’t felt before. A sort of melancholy had overcome her since she met him, and she couldn’t quite shake it.

His move back into the hut at the start of their second moon had brought new adjustments, though not as many as Abi had expected. Rylen was quick to send him out if they wanted privacy, and Malcolm obeyed without questioning why. The small cot from Elinor’s hut that Abi had rested on had been added to one wall of the hut, but Abi realized the fact that room had to be made for it meant that it had not previously belonged there. All Abi could assume was that she had taken his place in the large bed, but he didn’t ever complain or say anything about the changes.

The biggest adjustment came from what seemed to be nightmares that plagued the young boy, though they were easily calmed by tucking him into the bed between them, surrounding him with their comforting warmth. When questioned about the dreams, Malcolm described nothing that sounded out of the ordinary for the Land of the Dreams, and Rylen only shrugged and said he had had them for a few moons before Abi had joined them. Beyond that, they seemed to simply be what they appeared - bad dreams that easily bothered one so young.

Malcolm was exuberant, and curious, full of questions and so vibrant that his smile and laughter were both positively infectious. He seemed absolutely fascinated by Abi, and could often be found during the day near her as she attended to whatever task she was busying herself in. So it was that she often found herself with an audience of one as she fletched arrows or reinforced her armor, badgered by innocent, rambling questions. Some were simply about what she was doing, while others seemed to imply that Rylen had spent a great deal of time talking about her both before and after he had taken her as his mate.

She wasn’t quite certain how that made her feel, and so she would simply bury herself in her work and answer as best she could as she worked.

“What’s that?” Malcolm asked one day as he sat beside her. He leaned over and pointed one stubby finger at what she was working on, looking like he wanted to touch it while also waiting impatiently for permission.

“Sinew,” she explained, holding out the piece she was using to tie a feather to the shaft of an arrow. “From a druffalo, it’s nice and tight once it dries - and therefore perfect for this.”

“Sin-eww,” he repeated. He ran his finger over the edge of a feather and then smiled. “Can you teach me?”

Abi stared at him for a moment and then shrugged. “Why not,” she murmured, and she moved the items she was working on so that there was space for him. Malcolm clambered into her lap, and she adjusted him so that she could still work on her arrows while he watched.

“How sharp is that?” he asked, tentatively reaching a finger to the arrowhead.

Abi pulled it away from him, a quick intake of breath accompanying the action. “Sharp,” she emphasized. “They’re meant for hunting, and things like druffalo, bears, rams - they have thick hides and fat that the arrow needs to make its way through.”

“Dadaidh said you killed a druffalo as well as that big bear on the hunt,” Malcolm told her.

Abi raised her eyebrows, struck by the realization that Rylen knew she was the one to fell the mother druffalo as well as the bear. But she simply smiled and continued to wrap the sinew around the shaft, determined not to focus on the soft swell of pride she felt at the knowledge he had told Malcolm. “Well, we needed to be successful,” she finally muttered.

“When will I be able to go hunting?” Malcolm asked. “I want to see Dadaidh leading the hunt and take down a big bear like you did.”

“Well, that depends,” Abi mused slowly. “I went on my first hunt when I was thirteen, but it was a small hunt, just a few fennec foxes and nugs. How - how old are you?”

She realized she hadn’t asked it at all, though she had been able to assume he was at least five winters old.

“I - I think I’m four,” Malcolm answered.

“Malcolm, you’re almost six, this is your fifth winter and you were born in the thaw.” The correction came from Elinor, who was moving from where she had been sitting with Cait to sit near Abi and Malcolm.

“Oh that’s right,” Malcolm agreed cheerily. “I can never remember.”

Abi chewed her lip for a moment as she finished tying off the feathers on her arrow and set it aside. Raising her gaze to Elinor she considered before asking. “His - his mother, where - where is she?”

Elinor held her gaze, a soft sparkling coming into her aqua eyes before she cleared her throat and shook her head. “If - if he has not told you, I - well,” she sighed and shrugged, “it is Rylen’s tale to tell.”

Abi glanced across the firelight to where Rylen sat with a few others, repairing weapons and armor, frowning as she watched him laughing and telling jokes. The way his mother had dodged the question only left her more desperate to know, and yet she wasn’t certain how to bring him her concerns. Outside of everyday conversation and their passions they rarely spoke about anything of import, and she almost wondered if he would tell her before the year was out.

Even asking some of the others didn’t bring about answers, no matter how she phrased the question.

To Abi’s mild surprise their days were almost always spent not only in the company of Rylen’s family but also that of the Thane’s. She hadn’t realized that besides being Master of the Hunt, Rylen and the Thane were incredibly close friends. They often sat together, discussing matters of the clan, with Thane Lionheart frequently seeking Rylen’s advice on any issue they were facing.

Evelyn sat most days preparing herbs, occasionally working with the other shamans and the Augur, making certain their tonics and potions were well stocked. She seemed peacefully contented in her state, though the Thane frequently excused himself to check on her and fetch her vittles or hot water laced with herbs if she needed it. The way he fussed over his mate surprised Abi, uncertain what to think of so much care being shown so freely.

At Evelyn’s feet usually sat a wee lass with glossy golden brown curls and large grey eyes that held a quiet curiosity as she observed the world around her. The resemblance to her mother was striking even though her hair more similarly matched that of the Thane’s. But the sharp intelligence obvious in her gaze mirrored the way her mother often sat studying everything going on.

Malcolm and the lass were close playmates, and when the young lad wasn’t watching Abi he could be found playing with the daughter of the Thane. The gentleness with which he played with the younger child was endearing to see, though occasionally Abi had to chide him for trying to insist he had to be in charge of their games.

“Don’t worry, Aoife never lets him push her around for long,” Evelyn told her one day as they sat beside one another. Abi had offered to help prepare herbs to dry, giving Evelyn a break as she nibbled at a soft flatbread with aged cheese atop it.

“How old is she?” Abi asked, smiling as she watched the children play a game they had devised with smooth stones that they had collected.

“Three winters, now,” Evelyn answered. She rubbed her stomach with the hand that rested on it, and took another bite of her bread.

“And how far along are you?” Abi raised her eyebrows as she stared at the large belly taking up most of Evelyn’s lap.

“Perhaps six or seven moons,” Evelyn told her with a smile. She lowered her voice a little conspiratorially, leaning closer to Abi. “It’s twins, this time. Cullen is worried, but I know it will be fine.”

The words made Abi’s heart clench, sudden tears welling in her eyes as she tried to lean over the herbs to hide the response. It had caught her off guard, and she tried to shake herself before it was noticed.

“Abigeál, are you all right?” Evelyn asked softly, reaching a hand to rest on Abi’s arm.

“I - I am, I’m so sorry,” Abi said, wiping at her eyes. “I - I had a sister. A twin, Mackenzie. She - died. Three winters ago.”

“I’m so sorry,” Evelyn said, squeezing where she held Abi’s arm. “I had a younger brother, Bron. He died five winters ago, so I understand. That’s a pain that never leaves.”

Abi nodded, finally giving a watery chuckle before she placed her hand atop Evelyn’s. “I’m sorry, you share something so happy and I - that’s wonderful news,” she said.

A twinkle came into Evelyn’s pale eyes and she glanced at where Cullen and Rylen were sitting on the other side of the Thane’s hut. “Maybe you won’t be so far behind, give the twins a playmate much as Aoife was to Malcolm.”

Abi gave a jerky nod, looking away quickly when Rylen glanced their way and caught them staring at the two men as they laughed together. Again Abi found herself wanting to ask Evelyn what she knew of any of it, but she wasn’t certain how much to trust the other woman or reveal how little she had been told. And so she kept her curiosity to herself.

Cait, at least, was a wealth of information given freely, offering explanations without being prompted. She and Eirick had first bonded almost ten winters ago, though they had repeated the ceremony at least once now as she told it. Their sons Donahue and Finley could often be found getting into mischief somewhere, their younger sister Tara following close behind them. The other woman’s longevity with the tribe and cheerful, easygoing attitude made her an excellent resource, and almost any question about the tribe that Abi had, Cait was quick with an answer.

Except when it came to Malcolm’s mother.

“There’s Cassandra, the Arena Trainer - if you need help keeping sharp for the hunt, she’ll whip you into shape in no time. One of our fiercest warriors, no question about it.”

“The Augur, Wynne, is a wise woman, willing to listen to any concern no matter how small. You could bring her any question and she will always take the time to answer it. Her wisdom has served us all well, and the Thane is a smart man to follow her advice.”

“Leliana, over there, is the Skald, and her tales and singing are the talk of the entire hold. No other has her skill, I can tell you that with absolute certainty. We’re lucky to have her.”

“Evelyn - the Thane taking her as his mate was surprising, but it was undeniable that she caught his eye almost as soon as he saw her. He worships the ground she walks on, and honestly once we all got to know her, it was hard not to see why. Her steady, gentle guidance has been just as beneficial as her fierce skills as a mage.”

“But what about Bethany?” Abi asked one day as Cait rattled on about others in the tribe to help her continue to get acquainted.

“Malcolm is the spitting image of her,” Cait said without missing a beat, but elaborated no further.

This much Abi had assumed, considering the child only vaguely resembled the members of Rylen’s family that she had met. His brother, the eldest of Elinor’s five children, looked so similar to Rylen and his mother that she could only assume the three sisters she had been told of must look the same as well. But Malcolm was so different, and she had already begun to assume that he must look like this mysterious mother no one would tell her anything about.

Honestly she wondered why it bothered her, why she sometimes watched Rylen holding the lad in his lap with a slight ache in her heart. It wasn’t until one night that the three of them sat in the hut before the fire that she began to understand why as she watched Rylen tell Malcolm a story about one of the hunts he had led.

The delighted faces and squeals of the wee lad, the effort to which Rylen went to make him laugh as he exaggerated the dangers and triumphs brought a warm smile to her lips and a fluttering to her stomach. The feelings tangled up inside her until she couldn’t decide if she merely wanted to kiss him or watch him tell stories like this for hours. Realizing just how content she felt surprised her, until it took her a moment to notice the story was done and Malcolm had asked her a question.

“Abigeál?”

Trying to refocus her gaze from how she had been staring at Rylen so tenderly, she blinked several times and glanced at Malcolm instead.

“What are the dwarves like?” the lad asked again, shifting in Rylen’s lap so that he was closer to Abi.

“You’ll get to meet one in a few moons,” she told him. “I think you’d like them, maybe - maybe your dadaidh will let you go with me to Gherlen’s Pass when I go in the thaw.”

“Oh could I?” he asked, looking up eagerly at Rylen.

“Perhaps,” he answered. He was staring at Abi with a strange look on his face, but it passed quickly before he returned his attention to Malcolm. “Perhaps we’ll all go.”

Abi smiled, finding she didn’t mind the thought. She glanced away, staring at the fire for a moment before suddenly her vision was obscured by Malcolm climbing into her lap.

“What’s this?” he asked, holding up a carved wooden statuette that she recognized all too well.

“Malcolm, that’s not yours,” Rylen scolded, reaching over for the figurine.

“No, it’s - it’s fine,” Abi said, taking the statuette from Malcolm and studying it for a moment. “It’s a carving of Andraste.”

“Like from the stories Leli tells?” Malcolm asked, carefully running a small finger along the wood.

“Aye,” Abi answered with a smile. “My sister found it on one of our journeys to Gherlen’s Pass. A Fereldan merchant had it, and she thought it was beautiful and bartered it for me.”

“Your sister?” Malcolm asked.

Abi swallowed before she nodded, avoiding the curious gaze she could tell Rylen was giving her. “Mmhmm,” she hummed after a moment. “We were both fascinated by the tales, the lowlanders tell it differently than our people do. To them, Andraste was a great prophet, the Bride of their god, who they call the Maker.”

“What’s your sister’s name?” the lad asked.

Smiling sadly, Abi decided not to correct the way he had asked it. “Mackenzie.”

“Do you miss your family?” He turned wide, curious eyes up to her, innocence shining in golden pools that caught the firelight of the hut.

“Aye, I - I do, sometimes,” she confessed softly.

“Well, you’ve got us,” Malcolm said, and he leaned his head against her chest. “We’re like family, right?”

Abi wrapped an arm around him and rested her cheek against his hair though words failed her.

“Malcolm, go to your seanmhair’s for the night,” Rylen’s voice cut in softly.

Malcolm gave Abi one last smile as he slipped out of her lap, wrapping his small furs around himself before he slipped out of the hut without another word. For a moment there was only silence after his departure, and then the creaking of leather and clothing mixed with the crackling of the fire. Rylen’s broad form filled her vision as he knelt before her, and he gently took the figurine from her, setting it aside as he encouraged her onto her back on the fur beneath her.

The tenderness in his gaze made her heart race, the same feeling she had felt while she watched him telling Malcolm a story returning. He brushed her hair off her face, settling himself between her legs as his gaze wandered over her.

“Lass, have I left you lonely, bringing you here?” he murmured, cupping her cheek with one hand as he ran his thumb over her lips.

The question surprised her, the affection and concern in his tone and his eyes stealing her breath away. For a moment she was speechless, but then a smile tugged her lips up ever so slightly. “No, I’m - I’m fine, really.”

“It was just the curiosity of a wee lad, but I hope - I hope he didn’t upset you,” he said softly, brushing his nose along hers before he pressed a few kisses to her cheek.

“It’s only natural to be curious,” she told him.

Her heart raced, the sudden urge to just ask coming upon her. She couldn’t work up the nerve, though, struggling with the new feelings that were blossoming within her at the gentle way he was kissing and holding her. If she asked would it ruin this moment, this perfect tenderness with which he was seeking her out as if to reassure her? And why did she find herself wishing that he would tell her of his own accord, that she wouldn’t need to pry for him to trust her with the tale?

Fear of pressing for too much overpowered her curiosity, and instead of asking the burning questions she longed to she decided to try trusting that he would tell her in his own time. The words were lost to his slow kiss, her desire to know turning instead to desire for him, though it was accompanied by something new. His touch acted as a balm to her soul, forgetting the sadness and pain that had just been brought to the surface by Malcolm's innocent questions. A warmth and longing was taking root inside her that had little to do with how Rylen's hands caressed her as he removed her clothes. She let herself give in to his passion, taken aback by the emotion suddenly present between them.

All she could do was hope that she wasn’t the only one who noticed the marked change in how he took her then, and wonder at where it might lead them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations as always:
> 
> boban - papa  
> dadaidh - daddy  
> seanmhair - grandmother


	7. The Third Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been trying to decide how to handle Common from Rylen's POV when he hears it, since he only understands a little. But I also want to make certain it's easy for readers to understand, so I'm borrowing a technique that worked well from one of my other fics ([Beautiful Disaster](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13388802/chapters/30668742)). Common that Rylen doesn't understand will appear as backwards English, but I'll also go ahead and include the translation at the end for you as well. I want to keep this easy and fun, not a chore, so I'll just continue to translate everything. (Although I'm beginning to think I can stop translating dadaidh and màmag since I've used them so much.)
> 
> Hope you all had wonderful holidays and Happy New Year! <3
> 
> xx,  
> Lara

There were soft murmurs near him, two voices, and then the heat resting against the front of him moved abruptly to slip away. Several moments passed, and Rylen adjusted how he lay, keeping his eyes closed as he sought to warm his now exposed chest. It still seemed dark beyond the hut, and he felt as if he had hardly been asleep at all - surely he could sleep longer before starting his day.

A body shifted closer, and he felt the tickle of breath on his face.

“Rylen?” a gentle voice whispered.

“Mmm,” he hummed, and he shifted his arm to wrap around her, pulling her to him.

“Wake up,” Abigeál breathed against his mouth. She brushed her lips on his, one hand reaching up to his nape to tangle in his hair. “I sent Malcolm to your mother’s, it’s just after dawn. I - I want -”

“Mmm?” he hummed again, tightening his grip around her until she was flush against him.

“Ry,” she almost sighed, brushing her lips against his more intently. They were parted, and she caught his bottom lip to pull it gently between hers. She strained upward, tangling the hand she had in his hair until she was holding him closer to be able to kiss him in earnest.

Giving up the desire to slip back into sleep, Rylen slid one hand down to her rear while he sloppily returned her kiss. Whatever finesse he currently lacked in his grogginess she made up for in eagerness, and he found himself clutching her against the front of him desperately in response. When she gently encouraged him to roll over he pulled her with him.

She leaned back as she situated herself astride him, propping herself with her hands above his shoulders. The soft light of the dying fire framed her in a beautiful amber glow, and she brushed aside her loose, long dark hair, smirking as she did. It was the most beautiful sight he could have imagined waking up to. He watched as she sat up and tugged off the large wool shirt of his that she wore, throwing it haphazardly aside before she reached for the ties of his woolen sleep trousers.

Any early morning trysts had so far been initiated by Rylen, and watching as she avidly freed him and scattered his scarred, tattooed flesh with kisses was thoroughly exciting. Each movement of her fingers and press of her lips to his skin he made certain to reward with a moan, his fingers digging into her hips as he enjoyed the attention she so readily showered upon him. When she returned her mouth to his he twisted a hand into her hair, holding her to him so he could savor the unexpected show of passion that had led to her waking him.

Before he could even slip a hand between her legs to help excite her she was taking him in hand, raising her hips so that she could guide him to her. Slowly she covered him, already wet and willing, her neck arched and eyes closed as she slid until he rested deep within her. Rylen tightened his grip on her hips, bending his legs so that he would be able to give himself leverage to thrust against her. But she took up a slow, steady pace, resting her hands on his chest in such a way that he felt encouraged to let her lead.

Soft sighs and cries slipped from her throat as she moved above him, and he lay and simply enjoyed the sight of her as she slowly rolled her hips to take him into her. He wasn’t quite certain where to look, too many glorious sights ready for him to enjoy. The firelight reflecting on her slightly olive skin and gleaming dark hair that fell around her shoulders and down her back? The sight of her pert breasts heaving? Or the sight of where his cock disappeared into her again and again as she thrust? Each was such a delectable vision he could only moan and try to savor them in turn as he tried to keep himself together for longer.

Gradually she increased the pace with which she bounced herself on him, whimpering slightly every time she took him deep within her. He moved one hand to rest between her legs, stroking her as he watched her brows furrow, a few soft cries meeting his thumb against her sensitive pearl.

“Ry,” she gasped, stuttering slightly in her pace as she sought out more friction by rolling her hips against him.

“Abigeál, aye, lass - is this what you wanted? Do you want to come for me?” he asked, unable to resist purring the encouragement as he continued working at her.

She moaned, clenching her eyes shut as she continued rocking and bouncing herself on him. She slowed slightly, biting her lip as if she was struggling with everything she was feeling, but she nodded rapidly in response to his continued purrs of praise.

He increased the attention of his fingers, enjoying the way she cried out and grasped where she held his arms more tightly in response. She was throbbing around him, and he groaned as he finally began to thrust up to meet her. They were both close; he wanted to push them over the edge together, to watch as she lost herself above him after so desperately seeking him out -

And he hardly had to wait at all. His efforts paid off, the feeling of her clenching around him as she sobbed the sweet nickname she had been whimpering making his vision go black. Pouring himself into her, his fingers digging tightly into her flesh, he followed her over the edge with a low moan and a desperate wish he couldn’t quite name. He hardly knew how long it was before she leaned over him, and then slowly collapsed onto him. She rested her head on his shoulder so she could bury her face in the crook of his neck.

Rylen wrapped both arms around her, holding her against him as they both tried to catch their breath. Abigeál was clinging to him, arms and legs tight on either side of him, rubbing her nose against his skin as she let out soft little moans of contentment.

“Good morning,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her hair.

She giggled, her breath warm against his skin. “It is,” she agreed.

Taking a few moments to enjoy the way he still rested within her, stroking her skin and drinking her in, he pressed kisses to her hair before he heaved a sigh. “What did I do to deserve such a beautiful awakening?”

“I - I just wanted you,” she murmured, and then nuzzled her face against him as if trying to hide from her answer.

“Oh?” Rylen mused, tightening his hold on her when she seemed to want to wiggle out of his grasp. “I’m glad, lass. I always want you, it’s nice to know that isn’t just - me.”

A few beats of silence followed his words, and he hoped that he hadn’t said too much, even though he had really only said a little.

“It isn’t.” The soft confession was followed by a sigh, and she again tried to pull herself out of his arms.

He relented and allowed her to clamber off of him, but once she was beside him on the bed he rolled and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back into his embrace. “Stay in bed a little longer, lass,” he requested softly. “I’d hold you longer like this, enjoying the sweet words you’re saying. I - I’m happy to hear them.”

“Ry…” she chided, and heaved a deeper, exaggerated sigh.

“Just like that, lass,” Rylen told her, snuggling her more intimately against the front of him. “I like it when you call me that. You never have before.”

“I - um,” she stuttered, and she fell silent. “It just - it’s easier.”

Rylen frowned, watching the way she was pointedly ignoring his gaze. She kept her head down, but leaned forward and pressed her lips lightly against the tattoo that spanned his chest. “Oh, easier, eh?” he teased. Perhaps if he kept things light, she’d be more responsive, answering teasing with sincerity.

“Mmhmm,” she hummed, but her lips were still resting on his skin. “You - you don’t call me Abi,” she mused.

“I just like Abigeál,” he told her, shrugging his shoulders slightly.

“I’m not really used to anyone but my parents calling me that,” she murmured.

“It’s a beautiful name.”

Again she buried her face, rubbing her forehead lightly against his hot chest.

“Does it bother you I call you that?” he asked, still carefully watching the way she was avoiding his gaze.

“N-no, it’s just - new,” she mused softly.

His frown deepened as he peered down at her. Finally unable to stand the way she seemed so distant while being so close, he rolled them so that she was lying beneath him. Brushing hair off her face he smiled at her, wanting to ask so many of the burning things that had bothered him for three moons now.

“Lass, are you happy? Here, with me?” he asked, almost instantly regretting his bluntness and wishing he had been able to ease into it for once.

To his surprise the soft smirk she usually gave him returned to her face, and she caught her bottom lip as she stared up at him. “I - I am, I think,” she murmured.

“You think?” he prompted, quirking one eyebrow.

She pressed her lips together and seemed to consider, raising one hand and trailing her fingers along his collarbone and the lines of his tattoos as she did. “Aye, I - I mean,” she took a deep breath, “I feel happy, most of the time.”

“Is something wrong?” he asked, frown returning as he cupped one of her cheeks with a hand.

“Not wrong, no,” she answered, shaking her head. “I just - I - I’m not certain.”

“Tell me, Abigeál,” he encouraged her as he rubbed his thumb along her cheek. “Try. I hope you know you - you can tell me anything. I promise.”

Her eyes found his at last, and she held his gaze with dark pools of brown, a curious sort of plea in the beautiful depths as she looked up at him. “Ry, can I - can I _ask_ you anything?”

“Of course, lass,” he assured her.

“What -” she began, but she chewed her lip for a moment and trailed off. “Are you happy with me?”

It didn’t seem to be the question she meant to ask, and she shook her head slightly as if disappointed with herself. But Rylen could tell some sort of nerves had gotten in the way, and he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Aye lass, very much so,” he told her. “I hadn’t thought I wanted companionship or a mate for a long time. Not until - not until I saw you that day at the hunt. You’re - you’re what I was missing, you - _you_ made me want this.”

A small smile pulled up the corners of her mouth, and then a soft, short giggle left her. She took a moment to study how her fingers moved along his skin before she looked back up at him. “And why?”

“Why you? You’re - feisty, and self-assured, and just so - vibrant,” he explained. “I wanted you, as soon as I saw you taking on that bear, as soon as you smirked at me and stole your dagger back with a bite instead of a kiss.”

She shook her head adamantly. “No, I meant - why didn’t you -”

Several pounding knocks suddenly interrupted their peaceful morning, and Abigeál startled and glared at the offending portal. The door rattled in its jamb with a few more bangs, and Rylen pushed himself until he was half-sitting on the bed.

“Come back later,” he called, disgruntled to be interrupted during these tender moments with his lass.

“Rylen? I need - I need you, please open up,” a loud, deep voice called.

Even through thick wood and the gusts of wind sounding from outside, the call of the Thane was unmistakable. Heaving a sigh, Rylen flung himself back on the bed before he glanced aside at Abigeál. She had a slight frown on her face, and he wished desperately that Cullen’s interruption had come only a few moments later, at the least.

Abigeál had finally been opening up to him; he had felt as if he was about to discover a part of why she had closed herself off after the claiming. She had even woken him up to seek her pleasure, and then she’d been so amenable to his words, his smiles, his touch, willing to speak with him and ask him -

_Why didn’t I - what?_

Even though he felt fairly certain he knew where that question had been leading, he didn’t want to assume. He wanted to listen to her concerns no matter how important or minute, wanted to listen to her trust him enough to ask, whatever was on her mind.

“Just a moment,” he finally called back, dragging his hand down his face with a deep sigh before he pushed himself out of bed. “Throw on some clothes, lass. I need to see what he wants but I'd rather he not see you in all your glory.”

“Aye,” she agreed softly with a giggle, and he listened to the hasty rustling of clothes as he pulled on his own.

He tugged the wool trousers she had thrown aside back on, and once he was certain she was covered he made his way across the hut to open the door. Cullen was standing at the door, his face slightly ashen, eyes wide as he met Rylen’s gaze.

Something was clearly the matter.

“Mate, you all right?” Rylen asked, stepping back to allow Cullen into the hut. When the other man still stood looking around as if lost Rylen reached out to his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Ev-Evelyn’s gone into labor,” Cullen said after a moment. “It’s - it’s early, it has to be early, I - I don’t know what to -”

“Is she all right?” Rylen prompted, tightening his grip on the Thane’s shoulder.

“Wynne is with her, as are the other healers and shamans, but I - I don’t -” Cullen trailed off, eyes still looking glazed, brows furrowed.

“Come in, mate, I’ll find some ale. You need it,” Rylen told him, stepping aside and gesturing for him to walk in.

“What’s the matter?” Abigeál asked as she watched Cullen almost stumble into the hut.

“Evelyn’s having her babes,” Rylen answered as he guided the other man to sit beside the fire.

“What? I - I should go,” she said, and she hurried to grab her furs. “She might need something, or - who’s watching Aoife?”

“She’s with - Elinor, I think,” Cullen mumbled.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Abigeál assured them as she finished tugging on her last boot. She stopped beside Rylen on her way out of the hut, and to his surprise she pulled him with one hand behind his neck to press a hurried kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Once the door had slammed behind her Rylen turned to face Cullen, unsurprised to see the Thane watching him with an eyebrow raised and a smirk tugging up the scarred corner of his mouth. Deciding to ignore the knowing look on the other man’s face, he turned to try to find some food and ale for his friend.

“How early is she?” he asked as he gathered some vittles for them.

“She thinks only a moon,” Cullen answered, his voice low and distant.

“That’s not dire, after all you said the wee lass is expecting two, eh?” Rylen pointed out as he sat beside Cullen before the fire. He set a small wooden tray between them, frowning as he passed a tankard of strong ale into the Thane’s hand. “Beth was early too, and everything went smoothly.”

“I remember,” Cullen muttered. “I just - I can’t help but - what if something is wrong? What if Evelyn doesn’t - I - I can’t, without her.”

“I know, mate,” Rylen told him, clapping him on the shoulder. “Drink up, it’ll help.”

“Wynne kicked me out of my own hut,” Cullen said after a moment spent gulping down ale. “Told me I needed to find something to do because I was only getting in the way, making things worse. I - I didn’t want to leave Evelyn, but -”

“We can go back later, once you’ve steadied yourself a wee bit,” Rylen said, trying to stifle his chuckles. He still remembered Aoife’s arrival about three winters before, and knew that the Thane would be worrying this much over his mate even if she hadn’t been early or burdened with two babes.

“I’ve faced a giant and yet somehow _this_ is more terrifying,” Cullen mused suddenly, shaking his head as he stared into the fire. He took a deep gulp of ale and then glanced at Rylen. “Do you think me weak, worrying like this about that little slip of a lass?”

“No, mate,” Rylen muttered, looking back into the fire as he contemplated. “You know I think that’s strength, caring for the mother of your wee ones, the one who’s agreed to share your bed and your burdens. I’d never fault you this show of nerves.”

“Aye, you’re right,” Cullen agreed softly. “I almost forgot who I was speaking with. I suppose - it is lucky the clan adores Evelyn, otherwise maybe I’d have to worry about someone taking advantage of my distraction.”

Rylen chuckled and shook his head. “No, you don’t have to worry about that,” he assured him. “Everyone is thinking the same, I’d wager. We all want to see her make it through, and the wee ones as well.”

They fell into silence, drinking from the tankards of ale as they stared into the fire. This comfortable silence was just as wonderful between them as the times they teased, joked, and laughed together, or the times they discussed important matters. It was the silence of friends who had known one another for a lifetime, and didn’t always need words to understand or share a moment.

“Any chance you’ll be joining me in this paternal worry in a few months?” Cullen asked suddenly, pulling them both out of their silent reveries.

Rylen chuckled and shook his head. “Not so far as I know yet, no,” he answered.

“Really? I’m amazed. After all seems I can hardly look away before you have her breeches down so you can get her to sing for you,” Cullen pointed out casually, but he smirked when Rylen caught his eye.

“It’ll happen when it happens,” Rylen replied easily, staring into his tankard.

“Interesting what the lass seems to have changed for you, really,” Cullen said, and when Rylen glanced his way he saw his lips pursed as he studied the flames. “Not so long ago you would have said ‘never again.’”

With a few more chuckles Rylen shook his head in denial. “Not never, mate. But you’re right, I did think it - unlikely,” he explained with a shrug. “She’s a different sort of lass, makes me feel - like moving forward is best, now, like another wee one wouldn’t be the worst thing. It’s been long enough; Malcolm’s getting older, more capable of taking care of himself.”

Cullen nodded silently for a few moments before he finally raised his gaze to Rylen’s once more. “Do you regret not taking that chance? To become their Thane, that is.”

Rylen scoffed, taking a long gulp to finish his ale as if that could wash away the bitterness brought about by that speculation. “You know I wasn’t in a good place,” he pointed out. “Uprooting to become some Thane in Rifthold, to a people and a clan I had no kin to, especially after - after that,” he trailed off for a moment as he pushed aside the painful thoughts. “No. I’ve never sought that, you know that better than anyone. I’m happy where I am.”

Cullen considered him for a few long moments before he slowly nodded agreement. “I won’t complain, I’m much happier that you chose to remain here as well,” he admitted. “Besides, this way I met Evelyn, and she’s been - wonderful for the tribe and our people.”

“Oh, aye - for the people,” Rylen mused slowly. When Cullen shot him a glare he let out a few barks of laughter. “Admit it, mate, you’re batty for the lass, still.”

“You would know,” Cullen countered. “Must be similar to how you feel about your Abigeál, considering how you act around her.”

Rylen gave a noncommittal grunt, avoiding the other man’s gaze, knowing if he glanced over his friend would be able to read it all over his face.

Next winter already seemed much too soon for his liking.

“She’s been asking about Bethany,” Cullen said after several moments of silence. “I’m surprised you haven’t told her.”

Rylen stared into the empty tankard he held, contemplating how best to explain. All he knew were the feelings she inspired in him, the desires and possibilities he had finally let himself consider once he saw her. Shaking his head he shrugged and looked sidelong at Cullen. “I won’t have her feeling like a replacement when she isn’t,” he answered carefully. “I wanted her, and I - acted on it before I thought everything through. I should have told her about it all before she accepted, and now I feel - trapped by that.”

“Her curiosity seems natural, and you can’t possibly imagine she’d - I don’t know, be angry you didn’t, once you explain?” Cullen mused. “She’ll understand, as anyone would. She just wants to know, and if I were you, I’d tell her.”

“When I’m ready,” Rylen said, allowing the flat tone of his voice to imply finality on the topic.

Cullen took the hint, and they finished eating the food Rylen had served in silence. Rylen’s mind wandered, realizing he had been right about the question that had been interrupted by Cullen’s knocking, realizing that she must have been trying to work up the nerve to ask him. His mother and Cait had already told him she had asked, and had encouraged him to speak with her. They had both told him they hated having to evade her innocent, sweet questions, even if they respected letting it be his choice. He didn't know how to go about doing it, and the more time passed the harder it became to think about doing so. All he wanted was to keep her from feeling second best.

But Cullen’s other questions, about the opportunities he had refused five years ago, were making his mind race. It was interesting that in all this time they hadn’t spoken of it, after his initial refusal. Cullen had accepted his deferral without question, allowing Rylen to walk away from the expectation and taking on the responsibility himself instead. The defeated clan had seemed surprised by this turn of events, but hadn’t been in a position to question the strange occurrence. Cullen’s gracious acceptance of them into the clan, though, had been a welcome alternative, and they had decided not to question the fact that they were all being allowed a chance to live. Especially with a Thane better than the one who had led them to attack a tribe unprovoked merely for his own glory.

Rylen had never wanted to lead, and the new clan members soon came to understand his actions had not been driven by a desire for a powerful new position. In a way, it had made them all come to respect him even more than they had after seeing him in action. Cullen had confided he expected tension and feared fractures in unity, but instead found that as five years passed, the two blended seamlessly into one harmonious clan all working together to thrive. Any inclination to create a faction to rally for Rylen to be Thane was quashed just by Rylen’s indifference to taking charge of anything but the Hunt. And his expertise as Master of the Hunt was so well respected soon none of the new clan members dared suggest he do anything but that, much to everyone’s relief.

The final act to unify the two tribes into one clan had been Cullen taking one of the new clan members as his bondmate. Watching their new Thane follow after one of their powerful shamans like a lovesick lad before he whisked her away to perform the knot ceremony had warmed even the most cynical heart in the clan. Evelyn’s continual, cheeky insistence to tie impossible knots so that Cullen could only unknot one or two was a well-loved joke within the tribe. The Thane had to re-declare his intentions for her and recommit himself to her almost every winter, and somehow every time he did the clan felt more and more loyal to him as their Thane.

It meant that now the idea of anyone wanting to take advantage of Evelyn giving birth to challenge Cullen's position was laughable. Rylen understood where the concern came from, but he knew the tribe well enough to know that they were all likely saying extra prayers and finding ways to help, no matter how small. The Thane Rylen had defeated in battle had been a selfish, warmongering, power hungry brute - a far cry from the patient, reasonable, and fair Thane they had found in Cullen once he accepted them into the tribe.

No, their biggest concern right now was Evelyn and the babes making it through.

When they had both finished eating, Rylen noticed the Thane getting restless, shifting and fidgeting with the tankard he held. He no longer had the glazed, wide-eyed stare he'd had when he pounded on the door of the hut, and Rylen decided perhaps it was time to let the man check on his mate.

Pushing himself to his feet, he wandered around the hut and gathered his clothes, pulling them on before he tugged on his boots. Stopping beside Cullen he held out a hand. “Come on, mate, let's go check on your lass.”

Cullen gratefully accepted his hand and once on his feet hurried to the door. Rylen followed, feeling some of the urgency Cullen must, and he took long strides to keep up with Cullen’s half-jog to his hut.

Both men stopped and stared once they reached it, uncertain of how best to continue. The air was crackling around the hut, and a sudden bolt of lightning struck a snow covered rock nearby.

“Evelyn,” Cullen murmured, and after he took a deep breath he charged through the static in the air toward the door.

Rylen took a moment longer, looking around to see if another strike was coming before he also rushed inside. As soon as he opened the door he was greeted by an almost oppressive, crackling electricity within, and a piercing cry made him screw up his face against the noise.

There was tense bustling in the large room, shamans and others hurrying around - although it almost seemed pointless, as if they were moving simply to keep themselves occupied. Further back in the hut, in a portion almost secluded from the front room, a large bed rested against the wall. It was from here that the cries came, from here that the raw energy filling the air was concentrated. Rylen slowly made his way forward, noticing that Cullen had already rushed to kneel beside the bed. Evelyn lay in its center, knees draped with a sheet, her dark hair sticking to the sweat of her brow.

“Evelyn, a ghrá geal, it’s all right, I’m here,” Cullen was saying. “Please, a ghrá, try. It’s all right. Scream if you need to, but please - try to calm your magic.”

“Cu-Cullen,” she gasped, and Rylen watched as the hand holding Cullen’s turned white from how hard she was squeezing. Another cry escaped her throat, and the air crackled more intensely, popping with electricity as a small hook of lightning appeared in the air as if jumping between two invisible clouds.

“Evelyn, deep breath,” a softer, calmer voice came from nearby. Wynne turned from where she had been dipping a cloth in a wash basin. “Remember - breathe and you will get through this.”

“I will breathe with you, a ghrá geal,” Cullen suggested. “Just as before. Just as with Aoife.”

“Cullen what if - what if they -” Evelyn began, her voice choking with the pain and her tears. “Promise me, if they’re -”

“It will all be fine. I am here, Wynne is here - nothing will go wrong,” Cullen hurried to assure her. He wiped the hair from her face, and accepted the cloth Wynne held out to him. Tenderly he leaned closer to Evelyn and murmured so that only she could hear him, wiping her sweaty face with the damp cloth as he did.

Slowly Evelyn’s gasping cries turned into soft whimpers, and the oppressive feeling of magic in the air lessened.

“Excellent,” Wynne praised quietly. She pushed her long grey braids off her shoulders before rolling up the sleeves of her shirt. “Now, Evelyn - shall we bring these babes into the world?”

Evelyn glanced up at Cullen, but he smiled and leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead. “I’m not going anywhere, a ghrá geal,” he assured her.

She took a deep breath and nodded, seeming to ready herself now that she was steady and Cullen was beside her. Rylen smiled, but seeing the situation under control and Cullen focused on his mate he decided it best if he excuse himself. He was best suited helping elsewhere, now that Cullen was calm and collected, and so he slipped from the hut.

Abigeál hadn’t been inside, and he wondered for a moment where she might have gone. But he remembered her concern over Aoife, and so he made his way to his mother’s hut. Squeals of delight came from within, the bubbling laughter of children greeting him as he slowly pushed the door open.

“Abi watch this - now I’m Sigfrost, the Great Bear!” Malcolm cried, and he stood from where he had been crouched on all fours. He stomped his feet, arms raised above his head as if he was trying to make himself as tall and intimidating as possible. “Rawr! I’m gonna get you!”

“Oh no! Aoife what shall we do?” Abigeál cried, clearly trying to suppress laughter as she feigned surprise.

“I use ma-gik like màmag!” Aoife declared in her high-pitched, determined way. She pointed her hand at Malcolm. “Zap! Gawt yoo Seeg-fraw!”

“It would take more than that to take me down!” Malcolm told her, and he danced around almost mockingly. “Can’t get me!”

“Aoife get him again!” Abigeál encouraged, giggling as she watched the little girl indignantly chase after Malcolm.

“No fair!” she cried. “I gawt yoo!”

Malcolm stuck his tongue out and continued stomping around, pretending to be the Great Bear Sigfrost walking on his hind legs. Aoife was still scowling as she tried to follow him, toddling along after him waving her arms. Abigeál was still focused on the pair, just smiling brightly as she watched them playing. None of them seemed to have noticed Rylen walk in, and after he had enjoyed the sight for a moment, he decided to join in.

“Rahhhh!” he yelled, hurrying forward and scooping Malcolm up in his arms. “I’m the great Master of the Hunt, and I’ve got you now Sigfrost!”

“Dadaidh!” Malcolm squealed, wriggling in his grasp. “Dadaidh put me down!”

But as he struggled part of his stomach was bared to Rylen, and he curled his arms to bring the laughing lad up. Taking a deep breath he pressed his mouth to his abdomen and blew - a loud, wet noise sounded, the vibrations caused by the action making Malcolm shriek and wiggle harder in Rylen’s grasp.

“Dadaidh - dadaidh I can’t - it tickles! Dadaidh!” Malcolm protested, laughing breathlessly as he continued to try in vain to get out of Rylen’s firm grasp.

“Oh no, Aoife, Sigfrost has been captured! Go get him back!” Abigeál said.

Aoife screwed up her face with determination and hurried forward, holding her hands up before herself. “I zap yoo! Let Seeg-fraw go!”

Rylen let out a low moan and sank to his knees. “She’s got me - the powerful and mighty Aoife has taken me down!” he declared dramatically. He released Malcolm and then slumped onto his side, pretending to be defeated.

“Yay! I did it! I did it!” Aoife cheered, jumping up and down. She hurried over to Abigeál and continued dancing in her celebration. “I did it Abi!”

“Good job, Aoife,” Abigeál praised, and she clapped. Malcolm ran over to Abigeál and climbed into her lap, as if staying within her arms would keep Rylen from tickling him again.

Rylen pushed himself up, smiling at Abigeál when he met her gaze, enjoying the tender smile she gave him in return, her arms wrapped casually around Malcolm. Aoife saw Rylen sitting once more and ran over to him, stumbling a little and ending up falling against him. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her onto his knee.

“Màmag?” she asked, looking up at Rylen with pale grey depths, the dark fringe of lashes framing them reminiscent of Evelyn’s own large, almond shaped eyes.

“Aye, your màmag is all right,” Rylen told her. “Soon you’ll have two new wee ones in your family, Aoife.”

“Can I play with them?” Aoife mused, her small fingers pulling at Rylen’s furs draped over his shoulders.

“Not for quite a while,” he told her. “But you’ll be good and help your màmag and dadaidh take care of them, won’t you?”

She nodded and then gave him a bright, eager grin. “Uncail Ry - elcnu Ry.”

Rylen frowned, uncertain of one of the words she had said, even as she repeated them singsong while continuing to play with his furs.

“We were learning Common before we started playing,” Abigeál answered his unspoken question. “Elcnu - it means uncail. She wanted to know what she would call you.”

“Yddad, or apap,” Malcolm said slowly. “Did I get it right, Abi?”

“Aye, that was very good. Can you tell him the phrase we worked on?” Abigeál prompted him, stroking his hair as she peered down at him.

“Aye - it was - I ma morf Valehold, dna I ma eht nos fo Rylen, Restam fo eht Tnuh!” Malcolm recited, and then grinned proudly.

“Well done, Malcolm,” Rylen praised. “That was - where he’s from?” he asked, wracking his brain for the bit of Common he knew. It had been a while since he had had to make use of it, and he realized he must have forgotten a great deal.

“And whose son he is,” Abigeál answered. “We’ll keep working on it. Might as well, it’s a useful skill.”

“Aye, it is,” Rylen agreed, enjoying the way she had taken charge of this and was working on teaching a skill to his son.

Malcolm, as if finally determining he was safe from being tickled, climbed out of Abigeál’s lap and hurried over to Aoife. “Wanna play stone-hopper?” He held his hand out to the wee lass and she took it, nodding eagerly and letting him lead her to a corner to take up their game.

For a moment Abigeál watched them, and then she looked over to Rylen to offer a smile. He pushed himself to his feet, helping her to hers before he led her behind the bathing area’s partition so they could speak out of earshot of the playing children.

“How is Evelyn, really?” Abigeál asked. “When I checked on her she was more concerned about Aoife, so I decided to come keep an eye on her. Your mother knows more about birthing babes than I do, so I thought I’d relieve her from watching them so she could help.”

“Thank you, lass,” Rylen told her. “Evelyn is fine, she’ll make it through. I got Cullen calmed down too, so that he could go back and help her.”

“He really cares for her,” Abigeál mused, and when Rylen glanced at her he noticed a soft, curious frown on her face.

“Aye, he does,” Rylen answered.

Abigeál looked up at him, her dark eyes searching his face as if she was considering something, or thinking hard. Finally she tugged her lip between her teeth and then took a step toward him, trying to keep her voice low. “What if - what if something is wrong? Would Cullen - I mean, I think Evelyn was worried if the babes aren’t healthy he would -”

“Cullen would do everything in his power to help them all stay healthy,” Rylen interrupted. “He’s not one to give up easily. You don’t need to worry about that.”

Abigeál nodded, folding her arms and looking down. Rylen’s own frown deepened and he took her shoulders in his hands, pulling her closer to him. Her concern and melancholy had him wondering, and he couldn’t resist asking - or reassuring her.

“Lass, are you sure you’re not - I mean I’m not bothered, I just wanted to see if you’re worried because you’re also - with child,” Rylen murmured.

Her gaze snapped up to his and she shook her head. “No, no, I’m - I’m still not. I just - I like Evelyn, and I don’t like to think that something could happen to her or the babes.”

Rylen smiled and wrapped his arms around her. “Everything will be fine,” he assured her. “Aye, it’s two this time, but she’s been through this before. You’ll see.”

She gave a hesitant smile before she leaned against him, relaxing into his embrace. Something still seemed to be the matter, though, and he placed a knuckle beneath her chin to tilt her gaze up to his. Another concern had crossed his mind, and he wondered a little if it was the same thing she was currently musing over so sadly.

“Lass, I - I want to make certain you know, if,” he took a breath to hold back the sudden emotion he was feeling. “If you’re with child when next winter comes, I would take care of you. Even if you chose to move on, I wouldn’t simply - turn you out, or leave you to handle it alone. You could stay with me as long as you wished, and I would watch out for you both before you were ready to leave. Even if you didn’t - want anything beyond our arrangement.”

Her eyes widened and her lips parted slightly, as if she was stunned by his assurances, as if she hadn’t expected them. This worried him, and he frowned slightly as he ran his knuckles along her cheekbone. Compelled by the way she was staring up at him, he leaned down, brushing his lips light as a feather across hers.

“I promise, Abigeál, I’d take care of you. You have my word,” he told her.

“I - I guess - I didn’t know what to expect,” she confessed softly. “I know you have Malcolm on your own, but - I didn’t know if that was - what you wanted.”

“No, lass,” he denied, an ache in his chest brought on by her admission. “I meant it when I said that it was you I wanted. That’s all.”

Hardly a moment passed before her hands were on his shoulders, behind his neck and tangled in his hair as she strained up toward him. He gladly tightened his arms around her and met her lips, following his assurances to her with a slow, gentle kiss.

Perhaps this had been part of what weighed on her mind, the idea that he had chosen the arrangement to simply get a child from her and then send her on her way. He didn’t know how to explain to her that he had been worried that he was the only one who hadn’t been able to shake the feelings inspired by meeting her at the hunt, worried that she didn’t share the same desire or interest for him. It had been likely she would accept because it was a good match, and he had allowed himself the possibility that he was risking himself, alone. That by next winter she would walk away and he would be the only one filled with regret that it had not turned into something more than this.

As she held him to her and kissed him so tenderly after his reassurances, he let a small bit of hope take root that he might not, in fact, be the only one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations from Gaelic:  
> a ghrá geal - my bright love  
> a ghrá - my love, my darling  
> uncail - uncle
> 
>  
> 
> And the backwards Common:  
> elcnu - uncle  
> yddad - daddy  
> apap - papa  
> I ma morf Valehold, dna I ma eht nos fo Rylen, Restam fo eht Tnuh - I am from Valehold, and I am the son of Rylen, Master of the Hunt


	8. The Fourth Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did update the number of chapters to 18, because I changed my mind about how I wanted to wrap this fic up. But it won't go past that now. I'm determined to finish this within my outline hehe.

The anxiety she had felt for nine days was laughable, looking back at it later. Yet she had worried incessantly over what might become of Evelyn and the babes as she joined what seemed to be the entire clan in assisting the Thane’s family.

A boy, and a girl.

Both so small and fragile, and Abi had been terrified the first time Evelyn had passed the girl to her to hold. The babe had merely squirmed in the furs she was wrapped in, but had grabbed Abi’s finger when she had held it out for her. In that moment her heart melted, and she’d found herself even more apprehensive that the wee thing in her arms might not make it. Or worse - be declared unfit.

She had only known it to happen a few times, and while she saw the rationalization behind it, she still couldn’t bear to think it could happen to the tiny, adorable babes Evelyn had birthed. Rylen had assured her that Cullen wouldn’t expose the babes unless there was absolutely no other option. She had watched the Thane tenderly looking after a bedridden Evelyn as well as Aoife and his new children in the days that followed, slightly reassured. Perhaps Rylen had been right…

But still she struggled to shake the feeling that one or both of the wee babes would be declared too sickly, too frail, and be left out in the harsh elements because they were not acceptable, somehow. Especially not as children of a _Thane_.

She had been unable to focus on anything but the desire to prevent that happening, and had spent the long nine days helping care for the two new additions to the clan. Evelyn seemed incredibly grateful for the extra hands, and so Abi did everything she could while ignoring the shared looks Cullen and Rylen continued to give one another when they were all in the same room.

It meant that she had a better view - a front row seat, as the lowlanders would say in reference to their ‘theatre’ - to the more personal inner workings of the tribe. Watching as everyone bustled in and out of the Thane’s large hut, even as a blizzard raged outside, to make certain the family was taken care of, was more than a little heartwarming.

And also, to Abi, more than a little reassuring.

Rylen’s words to her had touched at something within her, a fear she hadn’t even vocalized to him but that somehow he had known she was feeling. Any children born of a bond stayed with their father if it ended. That was just how it was with their people, how it had always been. The sight of him with one son, on his own, had made her wonder what the true intentions of the arrangement had been. Yet he had seemed so earnest when he told her it was her decision, that he would help her but respect her choice -

_I meant it when I said that it was you I wanted. That’s all._

The words stayed with her as she helped night and day. They stayed with her as she watched Cullen accept both babes from Evelyn’s arms, giving her a tender smile as she stared up at him with wide, pale eyes even as she offered a smile in return. They stayed with her as Cullen proudly presented both babes to the clan, as was the tradition at the end of nine days.

“Bron Cullensen,” Cullen declared, proudly holding up his young son, dark tuft of hair gleaming in the firelight of the ritual hut. “And Dana Cullensdottir.”

As the Thane declared it, Wynne stepped forward and sprinkled water on both of their heads as she intoned incantations, causing them both to fuss within the furs wrapped around them. Cullen smirked at the sight, then seemed to remember himself and his face returned to its solemn half-frown. Beside Abi in the gathered clan standing in the hut, Rylen shifted and chuckled, and when he caught her curious gaze he smiled.

“Malcolm started howling when it was his turn,” he whispered. “Couldn’t quiet him, not until I passed him back to Beth.”

Abi stared at him for a moment, taking in what he said before she nodded. “Ah,” she hummed softly, at a loss of anything else to say. Something shifted in Rylen’s face and he grimaced as he straightened and again faced where Cullen stood on a wooden dais.

Soft murmurs began to grow around them as Cullen carefully passed his daughter to Evelyn, who was sitting in a fur-covered chair nearby. She accepted her with a wide smile, and beside her Aoife strained on her tiptoes to peer into her sister’s face.

One by one members of the clan walked forward, offering small gifts for the new arrivals as a sign of welcome into the tribe. Rylen clapped his hands on Malcolm shoulders, glancing down at his son and the small bundles he carried. “Go on ahead, Malcolm,” he instructed, squeezing his shoulders before he released him. “Be gentle, lad.”

Malcolm nodded and hurried forward, joining the small queue before Evelyn, bouncing on his toes as he waited to present her with the gifts they had prepared. Two fur-lined, wool blankets and two wooden toys Abi had had among her collection of trinkets, which she was more than willing to part with for the children of her new friend.

As they watched Malcolm wait his turn, Rylen wrapped his arm around Abi’s shoulders and pulled her to his side. “Feeling better, lass? Now that they’ve been named?”

Abi looked up to meet his gaze, feeling as if the question he asked wasn’t the one he intended. There was a hesitancy in how he phrased it, his brows furrowed, and she realized he had to be thinking about what he had said, the reminiscences he had shared. But she smiled and nodded. “Aye, I do. For how small they are they’re strong - I’m glad to see a Thane recognize that, and not rush to deem them unworthy.”

“Did you see that often?” he asked, his fingers tightening on her shoulder as if to comfort her.

“No, but the few times I did were enough for me,” she murmured. “There are so many ways to help, ways we could explore, so that that practice became unnecessary.”

“Lowlander ways?” he prompted her, but when she looked up at him she saw a smirk on his face. It wasn’t unkind; in fact it almost looked like he wanted to hear more.

A sneeze right before them brought them back into the moment, and Abi glanced down to see Malcolm rubbing at his nose.

“We should get him home,” Abi mused, watching as he sneezed again. She frowned, hoping that perhaps something had just tickled his nose.

“Aye, let me check with Cullen and then I’ll join you,” Rylen agreed, and he pressed a quick kiss to her temple before he released her.

“Come along, Malcolm, let’s go home,” Abi said, holding her hand out to the lad.

He smiled and took her hand, almost skipping as she led him from the ritual hut. They both bundled themselves more tightly in their furs against the howling wind that swirled crystals of ice through the settlement. Abi led Malcolm to their hut, noticing that he sneezed a few more times along the way.

Once inside she helped him out of his furs beside the fire, still watching him curiously as he wiped at his nose. But they’d just been outside, and hers was cold and running slightly from the gales as well. Before she could ask if he needed anything, he looked up at her and gave her a bright smile.

“Dadaidh said I was that small too,” he told her. “But now I’m going to be big and strong like him. And they will be too, won’t they?”

Abi nodded and offered a small smile. “Aye, they will be,” she assured him.

“Maybe once they’re big we’ll go hunting together,” Malcolm mused. “I’d like that,” he added after a moment, and then he wandered to his usual corner of the hut to begin playing.

For a while Abi tended to the late evening chores, listening as Malcolm made some game with the small wooden toys she had given him. She shot glances to the corner he played in, smiling softly to herself and feeling content in a way she couldn’t quite name. As she worked Rylen’s words continued to come back to her, the feelings she had tried to ignore by helping Evelyn instead of focusing on them. Only now in the quiet she couldn’t help but think about them as she listened to his son babble and play in the corner.

_If you’re with child when next winter comes, I would take care of you._

_I promise, Abigeál._

Something was changing within her, until she didn’t think that would be such a bad circumstance to find herself in. Any child now would be born once the arrangement was over, but then again he kept saying _if_.

_If you chose to move on, if you didn’t want anything beyond our arrangement._

As if he was open to more, and the decision rested with her about whether or not it continued. She looked once more to where Malcolm was playing and a smile broke across her face without her meaning it to. Thinking over the slip Rylen had let out during the ceremony, about passing Malcolm to Bethany - she realized it had stunned her because she could picture it so well. Only when she saw it, she saw a wee babe with tufts of chestnut waves on its head, bright blue eyes shining up at - _her_.

If - _if_ she wanted more.

Did that mean he did?

Just as she thought it the door opened, and Rylen hurried in before he shut the portal against the howling wind. Snow covered his waves and braids, the dark fur draped over his shoulders, and Abi hurried forward.

He smiled at her as he watched her dusting his fur off, and she ran her fingers through his hair to try to get the snow out of it. “Thank you, lass,” he told her. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but - Evelyn was asking for you.”

“Does - does she need me now? Is everything all right? Something wrong with the babes?” Abi rattled off, eyes wide as she peered up at him.

“She didn’t tell me for what, but she did ask at your earliest convenience,” he answered with a shrug.

“I’ll - aye, I’ll go see what she needs,” she muttered. She grabbed her furs and threw them over her shoulders, taking little time to dread going back out into the storm.

The snow was biting and she shivered after the warmth of the firelit hut, but she merely pulled her furs more closely about herself and hurried through to the Thane’s large hut. She’d never visited by herself, and she hesitated outside the door to take a deep breath before she knocked as loudly as her frigid fingers would allow her. Cursing forgetting her gloves as she knocked again, more loudly this time, she pressed her lips together and waited.

A tall blond figure opened the door, and it took her a moment through the snow to realize that it wasn’t the Thane but his younger brother, Branson, who filled the door with just as much bulk as the Thane himself would have. “Aye?” he greeted her with a frown.

“I - Evelyn asked for me?” Abi told him uncertainly. They had only met a few times, when the two families had worked on chores or plans for the clan together. She wondered for a moment if he recognized her, but he nodded and stepped aside, gesturing her in.

Abi hurried within, grateful for the warmth once more, and looked around. A few family members were working in the large common area, and the squeals of laughter from Aoife as she played with her father punctuated the otherwise quiet murmurs in the hut. Some of them turned to look at Abi, as if curious who was interrupting their family time, and Abi gave a small smile that probably looked more like a grimace as she wondered why she’d been summoned to the hut now. Branson motioned silently for Abi to follow him, and led her to the back room that served as the family’s sleeping quarters.

Evelyn was sitting on the bed, something spread out before her that looked like thin white snakes coiled together. Abi slowed and nodded a silent thanks to Branson for leading her to Evelyn, then circled the bed to look at what the other woman was working on.

When she looked up she smiled. “Oh, good, Abi,” she said, letting her voice carry to the others. “I was hoping you might tell me more about these wooden toys you brought for the twins.”

Abi frowned, noticing the way Evelyn eagerly patted the bed and held her gaze meaningfully as she did so. Taking the hint, Abi took a seat facing her friend and frowned.

“Um, they’re - wood,” Abi began. “I got them from a lowlander settlement near Gherlen’s Pass.”

“How wonderful, tell me more while I work,” Evelyn said, again slightly raising her voice, but then she bent over what she had before her. Abi looked down as well, realizing it was a long, thin, white rope.

“What -” Abi began, reaching for the rope.

“I need your help,” Evelyn hissed softly. “I’ve been trying to tie this into knots for so long, but I’m still too weak from the twins. Tomorrow we’re - I mean, Cullen declared it this morn, tomorrow we’re to go to the Spirit Tree to make our offerings and perform the ceremony.”

“But why do you need my help?” Abi whispered back. “You’re supposed to do it yourself -”

“Because I have a reputation to keep up,” Evelyn interrupted. “He offered to delay it until I was at my strength but I refuse to let this lapse and appear weak.”

“So they’ll be easier to untie, what’s wrong with that?” Abi pointed out with a shrug.

The look Evelyn shot her was knowing, one eyebrow quirked as she considered. “We’ve done the ceremony three times, now,” she explained quietly, straightening her shoulders slightly. “The first he only got two undone because I underestimated just, ah - _how_ skillful his fingers really were.”

Abi raised her eyebrows, taking in the proud look on Evelyn’s face. She knew others resorted to all manner of methods to keep too many knots from being untied. Her older sister Coleen had sung quickly, after choosing an already short melody to accompany the ceremony. Her mother had even told her that the first two times she had performed it with her father she had done similar, and tied strong knots as well. It always seemed a point of pride, an effort to keep things as transient as their settlements, as the rest of their life. Her mother had explained that it was to appease the gods by not asking for too much, but Abi found that hard to believe after everything she had seen elsewhere.

Her mother and father blamed her curious fascination with lowlanders and their customs for her romantic ideals. They had overheard her speaking with Mackenzie once, declaring that she wanted more, that the necessity of having to recommit every winter or two or three wasn’t appealing to her. The lowlanders had marriages that lasted a lifetime, and she had watched her whole young life these people in villages who continued, winter after winter, with the same person beside them.

 _I want that,_ she had thought every time she saw the same family she had seen the thaw before, husband and wife smiling happily at one another.

Now, she frowned at the bright gleam in Evelyn’s eyes as she held herself proudly, thinking it strange that a bonded pair so enamored with one another performed this ceremony every winter.

“Please, Abi, help me,” Evelyn insisted softly, drawing Abi out of her introspections. “I can tie the knots, I just need you to tighten them all for me.”

Abi chewed her lip for a moment, staring between the white rope in Evelyn’s thin fingers and her unusual, pale eyes. Finally she nodded. “All right,” she sighed. “I’ll help.”

“Thank you,” Evelyn mouthed, winking before she began to tie an overly complicated knot in the rope.

“Can - can I ask - why do you make it so hard for him?” Abi asked, unable to resist.

Evelyn considered her for a moment, an almost pitying look in her eyes before she offered a smile. “I love that man,” she told Abi firmly in her gentle, sweet voice. “And I love making him tell me he feels the same, every winter. Just as he did the first time, when I thought it would never be possible that such a man as he would ever make such declarations to me. Not after…”

Here she trailed off, brow furrowing as she returned her gaze to the rope in her fingers.

“Not after what?” Abi prompted.

Evelyn’s lips twisted, and she tugged one between her teeth before she sighed. “We met in battle. On - opposite sides,” she finally answered. “And he is a Thane, and even though I am a shaman, and was before, as well, I - well. I still never thought to have a chance.”

Abi’s eyebrows rose as high as they could. “You were - fighting against one another?”

Evelyn smirked and nodded. “Aye, it was a foolish thing,” she mused softly. “Unnecessary, but such things happen. In the end, things worked out, but - not without great cost, on both sides.”

Abi pursed her lips as she accepted the bit of rope that had two knots in it so that she could pull them tighter while Evelyn tied more. “Your - your brother?” Abi guessed tentatively.

“He wasn’t the only one lost to that senselessness,” Evelyn murmured bitterly. “But now, we’re all together. And Cullen - well. He noticed first how capable I was, shielding everyone in battle with my magic but not attacking anyone directly. And then he noticed how beautiful I was, or so he said, but I think he’d noticed that first. Before I knew it, he was visiting me daily where I worked and studied with the other shamans, and boldly stole kisses whenever he had a chance. Then one day - he carried me away to the Spirit Tree and bade me tie some knots, declaring that he’d have no one else, if - if I would accept him.”

The story tugged at something in Abi, and she found herself smiling as she continued to discreetly strengthen the knots Evelyn had tied. “So every winter, you make him do it all over again? Declare that he’d have no one else?”

Evelyn giggled. “Yes,” she answered. “Strong, commanding Thane - but he gets on his knee and kisses my fingers, and declares his intentions to have me for his own. I never tire of it, and the funny thing is - the rest of the clan doesn’t either. I think they love that he has to work hard to keep me, and they like seeing that he does, that he puts in the effort for his mate instead of just - expecting it as his due. It’s best for everyone.”

Abi said nothing, too many thoughts racing through her mind as she mused over the romance of the Thane and his bondmate, the mother of his children. A man that fierce and intimidating, but when it came to his petite young mate he was tender and caring. She had always thought her parents were an oddity, that stories such as that of Tòm Black-Wall and Josephine were rare among her people. Everyone seemed to move on so quickly, otherwise.

Thinking of her own temporary arrangement, she considered what would happen at the end of it. Picturing Rylen carrying her away to the Spirit Tree, declaring he wanted her for himself, that he’d have no other if she would accept him, untying knots as she sang to him - the images made her heart race. She could see the appeal of wanting to hear that every winter, yet she still knew deep in her heart she wanted more than that.

 

* * *

 

Sneezing turned into coughing. A hacking, raspy cough that turned the wee lad’s whole face bright red with the effort. He continued to wipe at his nose, sniffling even as he moped around the hut, surprisingly lacking his usual energy to play with Aoife now that the blizzard had ended. When he leaned against Abi where she sat before the fire the next night, she frowned and raised a hand to his forehead, only to find it covered in a thin layer of sweat and hot as can be.

“Ry?” She glanced up, searching for the broad figure of her mate.

“Aye, lass?” he called back, straightening from how he had been chopping wood in a far corner of the hut.

“I - I think Malcolm is ill,” she told him.

Immediately he set his axe aside and hurried over, kneeling beside where his son was snuggling against Abi. He reached for his forehead, frowning as he felt it. “How are you, lad?”

“I’m - I’m sleepy, Dadaidh,” Malcolm murmured. “And my neck hurts.”

“Neck - inside?” Rylen prompted him.

Malcolm nodded his head, and it lolled listlessly against Abi’s arm as he did.

Rylen grimaced and stood, holding his hands out. “Let’s get you to bed,” he insisted. He helped his son make his way slowly to his small cot in the corner, and then tucked him under only one of the furs that rested there.

“Dadaidh I’m cold,” Malcolm protested.

“No, lad - just one fur, you can’t get too hot,” Rylen chided, brushing the wee lad’s hand away from the other furs. “It’ll be warm soon, you’ll see.”

For several moments he sat on the edge of the small bed, brushing black hair off a damp forehead before he pushed himself to his feet. He looked around as if thinking, and Abi took a few quick steps forward.

“What can I do to help?” she murmured.

“Nothing, lass,” he assured her softly. “I’ll take care of him, it’s fine. He’ll be all right with some rest.”

“Ry, you - you don’t have to do it alone,” she pointed out, putting her hands on her hips as she stared up at him. “Tell me how I can help.”

He considered for a long pause before he smirked. “Right now he could use some water, I suppose,” he conceded. “I’ll try to get him settled a wee bit if you could get that.”

“Of course.” She offered a smile before she hurried off to get water from its place in the hut. Taking the small cup she had filled back, she stopped for a moment to watch as Rylen sat softly asking Malcolm how he was and how long he’d been feeling ill. The tender tone of voice he was using made her smile slightly, even though she was filled with worry over just how hot Malcolm’s forehead had been.

“Here,” she murmured, passing the cup to Rylen. “Do you need anything else, Malcolm?”

The lad turned his head and looked up at her. “No,” he said quietly, almost just a soft sigh of an answer. It did little to help her worry.

“I’ll finish everything up, Ry, you just take care of him.” She leaned forward and pressed her lips to Rylen’s cheek, squeezing his shoulder, and then stepped beside Malcolm and gently ruffled his hair. “Get some sleep.”

And sleep was what he did for several days. Rylen stayed beside him, trying to get him to drink water and keeping damp rags on his forehead in an attempt to cool him down. However, his fever continued to climb, his lips dry and cracked from how hot and parched he was. His fever slipped into delirium, his rest punctuated with vivid nightmares and weak hallucinations, and Rylen frequently found himself having to restrain or comfort Malcolm in his fever dreams.

Abi worked hard to keep everything else taken care of, as well as making certain there was always water nearby and bone broth warm by the fire in the hopes they could get him to hold some down. She went several times to visit the shamans and Wynne to see what aid they could offer, deciding not to bother Evelyn for her maternal advice, even though she desperately needed it. Malcolm didn’t seem to be improving, and Rylen was wearing himself thin trying to take care of him all day and night.

To her delight and disappointment, Wynne finally told her of a draught that could be made as a tea or soup that would help his fever - only the clan was dangerously low on one of the key herbs needed. Evelyn’s and a few other difficult births as well as other illness that winter had led to most of the reserves of healing herbs running low. When Abi pressed for more information about the tonic, she was relieved to find that there was, actually, a way.

Namely, using the herbs she currently had stashed away in a pouch, the herbs she took weekly to prevent herself becoming with child.

She thanked Wynne for the information, pretending to look forlorn despite learning the recipe. As she slowly made her way across the settlement, the sparkling white snow crunching underfoot, she found herself considering her options. Using the herbs to make the tonic went without question - Malcolm wasn’t improving, and if she could save him and help him recover, she would in a heartbeat. She wondered a little at how willing she was to use up her own reserves, but deep down she knew the thoughts she had been avoiding, the desire she hadn’t fully faced.

Ever since Evelyn had given birth, ever since Rylen had assured her so tenderly that he would care for her no matter what came next winter, she had been considering stopping her use of the herbs. After all, she was content. Actually, she was more than content.

Some days she thought about staying as long as she lived, something she hadn’t thought possible. Her restlessness was calming, her melancholy of missing her tribe and her parents being replaced by calm acceptance and even happiness at the new clan members with whom she spent her time. Evelyn was becoming a dear friend and confidante, and even Rylen’s family had accepted her and immediately begun to treat her as one of their own. His mother, especially, seemed to be particularly fond of her. Malcolm spent a great deal of his time with her, eager to hear stories and learn Common, sometimes just sitting near her and watching her closely as she attended to her tasks.

And Rylen…

When she had seen him on that hunt, she hadn’t thought that it could lead to this. Their early flirtations had just been fun, but now she had found a tenderness she hadn’t expected or known she was missing. Her reservations that he merely wanted someone to warm his bed had faded, and more and more she believed the words he had spoken to her. He had wanted her, and she was beginning to think he had made this arrangement temporary because he worried she didn’t want him, as well.

Yet the images of him untying knots while she sang to him, of him presenting their babe to the clan were getting stronger by the day, much to her surprise.

If only her mother could see her now, actually considering pulling her head out of the clouds to settle down.

With that thought she picked up the pace to their hut, mulling over the choices she was about to make. Despite how certain she felt about them, she found her heart racing a little as she realized what this would all mean.

The hut was dark, the fire almost completely out, only a few embers left alight. After shrugging out of her furs and hanging them to dry, she put a few more logs on the fire to get it back to its full strength. She was going to need it.

The fire tended, she turned to Malcolm’s cot and quietly moved to stand beside it, heart soaring at the sight she found there. Rylen was holding Malcolm to him, both of them lost in peaceful slumber for the moment. There were knots in Rylen’s hair, dark bags under his eyes, and a thin sheen of sweat was on both of their faces.

This wouldn’t do. Rylen was exhausting himself tending Malcolm, still determined that he didn’t need her help. But he did, or at least - she wanted to give it. The wee lad had crawled his way into her heart, had been so adorable as he worked to accept her into the family that she felt protective and -

Maternal. That was this feeling, this urge she had to take care of him. It stunned her a little when she realized how she thought of Malcolm, but she realized that was a piece of her willingness to part with her herbs.

With determination guiding her, she leaned down and gently shook Rylen’s shoulder, caressing his cheek and brushing his hair off his face to ease him from his slumber. He jerked awake, looking around and then down at Malcolm, frowning when he saw him sleeping soundly.

“Ry,” Abi greeted, and she smiled when he turned his bleary gaze to her. “Come on, you need to take a break -”

“No, lass, I’m fine,” he protested, dragging a hand down his face. He had a few days’ worth of scruff, and he scratched absently at it. “I finally got him to sleep, I can stay here -”

“You’ve been here for several days now,” Abi pointed out. She gestured a hand to encourage him to slip from the bed. “You need to get out, get some sun - take a bath. I can take care of him.”

“You don’t need to, Abigeál,” he told her, frowning as he looked away.

“Someone needs to take care of both of you,” she countered, quirking an eyebrow in challenge when he shot her a scowl. “Go. Get out of the hut. I’ll watch over him the rest of the day.”

Rylen grumbled slightly to himself for a moment as he avoided her gaze, but with one last look at Malcolm’s sleeping form he carefully began to disentangle himself from the tiny cot. Once on his feet he stretched and again scrubbed a hand over the dark whiskers covering his chin. He almost looked lost, as if he didn’t quite know what to do or where to start. Abi gently took his forearm and led him away from the cot, guiding him toward the door of the hut.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got him,” she assured him. With one last smile she passed him his furs and opened the door.

“Aye, you’re - you’re right, some fresh air, maybe go see - aye,” he mumbled, and he pulled his furs across his broad shoulders as he left the hut.

Abi closed the door behind him and returned to Malcolm’s cot, lightly pressing her fingers to his forehead. He was still burning up, and he was pale and clammy. But for the moment he was sleeping peacefully, and she didn’t want to disturb him before she had to.

She crossed the hut to the small chest she kept her belongings in, digging around for a moment until she found the leather pouch that held her herbs. It had been enough to last until the thaw, and she had planned to go at her first opportunity to a nearby lowlander settlement to trade for some. Now, though, she counted out the herbs, softly reciting the tonic recipe Wynne had told to her.

When she determined she had enough to make a few batches of the tonic as either a soup or a tea, she smiled to herself and carried everything she needed to the fire. For a time she simply focused on her work, occasionally glancing at Malcolm’s sleeping form as she prepared the tonic as a tea.

It was on its final steep, an earthy and almost minty scented steam rising from the small clay bowl she was using when Malcolm began to stir. Quickly she poured some of the tea into a small cup, blowing on it as she carried it to his cot. When she knelt beside him she offered a sweet smile, trying to decipher if his eyes were glazed as if he was in a delirium or if he was merely trying to shake off sleep.

“How are you feeling, Malcolm?” she asked softly.

“I’m thirsty,” he told her, rubbing at one eye with a fist. His voice was weak and hoarse, and he didn’t try to push himself up from where he lay.

“Luckily for you I have some tea for you,” Abi said, and she blew on it a few times to try to cool it a bit more. “Can you sit up?”

Malcolm shrugged, a soft pout coming to his parched lips. He made no effort to sit, and so Abi moved to the head of the cot and carefully pulled him to her side. Leaning back against the wall she cuddled him against her and held the cup, offering it to him to drink from.

He took a careful sip, and when he found the tea warm and soothing he took another, and then another. Abi continued to hold both him and the cup as he drank the tonic, and she was relieved when he easily finished it.

“Better?” she asked, and she reached a hand to his forehead. It wasn’t quite as clammy, and she smiled as relief flooded her.

“Aye,” he murmured. “It doesn’t hurt to swallow anymore.”

“Good,” she agreed happily. “Do you want some broth? I have some warmed for you.”

“Please,” he answered, and he finally managed to sit up and adjust his furs slightly.

With a pleased nod, Abi pushed herself off the cot and crossed the hut to where some broth was still warming in a larger clay pot. She poured some into a bowl, and took another cup of the tonic as well. When she passed them both to Malcolm, she watched eagerly as he sipped from each in turn. After days of not being able to hold anything in and not having any water, she was thankful to see him sitting up and making an attempt.

He quickly finished both, and after she set the bowl and cup on the floor she reached a hand to his forehead - only to find that it felt warm instead of scalding.

His fever had broken.

“You still need rest but you seem to be better,” she told him, once more taking a seat on the cot. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. His voice was slightly stronger than it had been, and he shifted around on the cot trying to get himself untangled from his blankets and furs.

“Here,” Abi stood and helped situate him so that she could tuck him back in, “there you go. You can go back to sleep now that you’ve had some broth.”

“Abi?”

“Aye?” She perched on the edge of the cot, stroking his hair in what she hoped was a soothing rhythm.

“Can you stay with me until I fall asleep?” he requested. “I keep having nightmares.”

“The same as always?” she asked with a slight frown. But even as she asked she pulled herself onto the cot fully and curled herself around him.

“Aye,” he murmured, looking away from her. “I’ll be all right I just - I don’t want to fall asleep alone.”

“Of course, a chuilein,” she assured him, and she tightened her arms around him.

He turned and snuggled against her, closing his eyes after he gave her a toothy grin. She continued stroking his hair absently, content as she held him to her and hoped that he fell into a peaceful slumber now that his fever had passed.

The tonic had worked much better than she had expected, and she found its success removed any regret she felt over the loss of her stock of herbs. She would continue to make it until he was back at his full strength, because he was worth it, and she realized she felt it her duty to do so.

What strange, unfamiliar feelings - and yet she was enjoying them.

Staring down at the sweet face resting on her shoulder, she thought back to times when one of her parents had taken care of her this way. Her mother used to sing to her, and on impulse she began to hum softly until she reached part of the words she still remembered.

“ _O sleep my baby, you are sharing with the Sun in rest repairing. While the Moons their silver chairs in, watches with your mother,”_ she sang. “ _Shobeen, sho lo...Lulla lo lo…”_

Malcolm’s breathing was deeper, steady, and he was almost smiling in his slumber. Abi leaned down and pressed her lips to his forehead before she opened her mouth to continue the second verse.

A shadow beside her made her startle, and she glanced up to see Rylen watching her carefully as he slowly knelt beside the cot. Once she realized it was just him she smiled, but her heart was racing at the tender gleam in his eyes. He reached silently to Malcolm’s forehead, and his eyebrows rose high as he felt it. Malcolm shifted slightly, and it ended up being enough that Abi was able to slip off the cot.

Rylen stood as well, taking her by the hand to lead her away from the cot and to one of the more secluded corners of the hut. He turned to face her, his bright aqua eyes searching her face. “His fever is gone?” he asked softly.

Abi nodded, allowing herself to smile. She leaned against the wall behind her, staring up at Rylen as she took in the relief spreading across his face.

“H-how? I mean he was still burning up when I left not that long ago,” Rylen mused, a small frown knitting his brows.

For a moment Abi thought through her response, and then decided on something close enough to the truth. “I asked Wynne for a tonic or something earlier, but she didn’t have the herbs needed,” she began, and she shrugged. “I realized I did, I’d brought some valuable herbs with me to trade in the thaw to make some fast coin, as a way to get ahead for trading. So I made the tonic for him and it seems to have helped.”

A smile slowly broke through the frown on Rylen’s face, and he stepped closer to her. He cupped her face in his hands, tilting it so that he could hold her gaze. Abi reached up and took hold of his wrists, rubbing small circles with her thumbs on his skin as she returned his smile. The look in his eyes was one she hadn’t seen before, and he continued to simply stare into her face before he took a small step even closer to her.

He leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead, his thumbs caressing her cheeks where they rested as he let his kiss linger. Pulling away just barely, he tilted her face again and leaned closer. She let her eyelids flutter shut, and his lips brushed light as a feather on first one and then the other.

Her heart felt near to bursting, pounding against her ribcage much the way it did the first few times he kissed her, or that she shared his bed. But he was merely pressing light kisses to her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks, and then he rubbed his nose against hers as he rested his forehead to hers. For several long moments he stood still, holding her face between his hands, and she breathed in the scent of sandalwood that always clung to him after he bathed.

When she finally opened her eyes to peer up at him, he raised his forehead from hers and met her gaze, and then a moment later met her lips with his. It was an unhurried kiss, still full of their usual passion without their usual impatience.

Rylen didn’t say anything when he pulled away. Instead he simply smiled and pressed another kiss to her before he released her and turned away. He crossed the hut and checked once more on Malcolm, and seemingly satisfied he carried on to begin some of the chores that still needed to be done for the day.

Abi stood for longer, as if lost in a fog from his tender affection. It took her several moments to pull herself together, reeling from what felt like a confirmation of everything she had been contemplating since she had decided to make use of her herbs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The little verse of lullaby that Abi sings is based on [this lullaby](https://www.libraryireland.com/Irish-Folk-Songs/Ancient-Lullaby-1.php) I found during my research, if you're curious.
> 
> Translations:
> 
> a chuilein - my lad(die)


	9. The Fifth Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be the chapter with the heaviest usage of backwards English as Common. I debated a few ways to handle it, but there's quite a bit and translating it in the end notes was going to be a hassle. If you don't feel like taking the time to slow down your reading to translate the Common, you won't be missing much except little insights. Anything major is explained within the chapter. Whenever Common is being spoken, the lines are italicized.  
> As always the Gaelic is in the end notes (hehe in this case...)
> 
> xx,  
> Lara

The thaw was slowly coming upon them. In another moon, it would be warm enough to hunt again, to travel and trade. Snow still fell, but it was heavy and wet, turning into a slush that mixed with the mud and seeped into the leather and fur of their boots as they walked through the settlement. The subtle change in seasons brought bustle and activity to the tribe, pulling them from the hibernation of winter. Daily chores turned into eager preparations for the thaw, and Rylen found himself setting out with a handful of others to scout the area surrounding them for a few hours each day.

Malcolm’s illness had terrified him, but the tonic Abigeál had made for him had brought the lad back from danger. She had continued making it in a tea or soup until Malcolm’s cough disappeared entirely, fussing over him as if he really were her -

Every time Rylen began to think like that, he shook himself and redirected his thoughts to his work. Their first hunt would be coming soon, just a small one to bring fresh meat into the tribe after a winter of salted, dried, and cured meats. Once the thaw was really upon them, he and Cullen would be meeting with Thane Black-Wall and his Master of the Hunt to plan the larger joint hunts as they had promised. In the meantime, preparing for the work of the thaw consumed all of his time.

Abigeál seemed to have busied herself with preparations as well, although hers were of a different sort. A few days she went with him to scout, since she was an accomplished hunter as well, but for the most part her days were spent gathering the goods that had been made for trade. One corner of the hut was slowly becoming filled with the items she gathered, ready and waiting for her to load them into a cart once she was ready to set out.

When Rylen asked her where she would go first she shrugged, a playful look coming into her eyes. “I’ll know soon,” was all she told him, as if that was a simple enough answer. Rylen trusted her judgment, and didn’t press for more - she had been trading for years, and had her own way of doing things, he was certain. Though he was curious how she would know, he left her to her preparations and lost himself in his own duties.

On a sunny morning, as he sharpened his broadsword outside their hut, he was surprised to see the patrols at the gate in the palisade perk up, drawing their weapons. Curious he stood as well, intending to see what was approaching - only to be further surprised when the door of their hut opened and Abigeál rushed outside as she pulled her furs over her shoulders. When she saw Rylen frowning at her she shook her head.

“I overslept,” she told him, and then hurried off to the gate without another word.

Rylen followed her, watching as she almost skipped to the gate in her haste, her long braids bouncing with each step.

“Abigeál,” he called after her, but she merely continued on her way as she gestured a hand for him to follow.

At the gate was a dwarf, with a small cart pulled by a horse smaller than the ones the Avvar used, though it was well-sized for both cart and dwarf. His shirt and leathers were open low, revealing a thick gold chain and quite a bit of chest hair, though he kept his face clean-shaven. Rylen raised an eyebrow, not having seen many dwarves before - and certainly not one without a beard. Before he could register more than curiosity at the stranger and the large crossbow slung over his back, Abigeál hurried forward with a call to the guards at the gate that he was a friend.

“ _Uncle Varric_!” she cried once she reached him, an almost girlish quality to the tone of her voice.

The dwarf chuckled and held his arms out wide, and Abigeál raced into them. “ _Ahhh - if ti t’nsi Abi Yssas-Stnap_!”

Abigeál made a show of rolling her eyes, putting her hands on her hips as the dwarf continued to laugh at whatever he had said. “ _I thguoht you’d stop gnillac me that…_ ”

Rylen raised his eyebrows, picking up a bit of the Common she used from what he recalled and what he had listened to her teaching Malcolm and Aoife some evenings. He took a few steps closer, adjusting how he gripped the sword he still held so as not to seem threatening as well as wanting to have a hand free so that she could introduce him.

The dwarf’s eyes moved past Abigeál and he gave Rylen a thorough once over, craning his neck slightly to look up at him. “ _I ekat ti siht si your man_?”

Abigeál nodded and glanced at Rylen, then took him by the arm to pull him closer. “ _Uncle Varric, siht si Rylen, my etam_ ,” she told him. “Rylen, this is Varric, he’s an old family friend and part of the Dwarven Merchants’ Guild. He and my father have been trading partners for a long time.”

“Ah,” Rylen hummed, and he offered his forearm to the dwarf for him to clasp, but then he hesitated and looked at Abigeál. “I - I don’t know how to greet him…”

She giggled and looked at Varric. “ _S’eh yppah to teem you_ ,” she said, switching back into Common. “ _Eh t’nseod kaeps hcum Common, hguoht_.”

The dwarf took Rylen’s hand and nodded, shaking it firmly before he released him. “ _Llew, ni sih esnefed, I don’t kaeps yna fo your eugnot_.”

“ _Hmm, yes yhw si that? Retfa lla you’ve nwonk father rof revo twenty sretniw_.” But Abigeál gestured for the dwarf to follow her as she laughed at whatever she had just said to him.

Rylen caught bits and pieces so that he thought he could make out the gist of their teasing, or at least it seemed to be teasing. The pair was comfortable and relaxed around one another, and he had understood that Abigeál had called him her “uncle” - although he understood it in the same way Aoife called him hers.

 _“Emoc no, you tsum be derit,_ ” she said.

“ _And dloc_ ,” Varric grumbled.

“ _Llew, s’ereht a erif gniog_ ,” she told him before she glanced at Rylen trailing behind them. “Are you scouting today?”

“No, helping Cullen and planning the first hunt,” he answered, and noticed the dwarf watching them with what seemed like great interest.

“Varric and I will be in our hut, and I - I was thinking he could stay with us or your mother for the night, he’ll head out again tomorrow.” She grimaced slightly as if she had meant to bring it up sooner. “If - if you’re all right -”

“Perhaps with my mother,” he interrupted her apologies and gave her a wink.

She understood his meaning and nodded. “Of course,” she agreed. “I’ll see you when you’re done planning with Cullen?”

“Aye, may not be until this evening,” he explained as they stopped in front of their hut. “I can keep Malcolm with me -”

“No, it’s fine, if he wants to stay here he can. I feel he’ll be excited to meet Varric.” She giggled a little and shrugged. “Good chance to learn more Common as well.”

Rylen nodded before he looked to Varric standing before the hut and frowning as he watched them converse. With a small inclination of his head to the dwarf, Rylen wrapped an arm around Abigeál’s shoulders and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. When he released her he caught the dwarf’s eye, and was met with a wink and a chuckle.

“ _Yrruh pu, Yssas-Stnap, I’m gnizeerf my sllab ffo_ ,” Varric grumbled under his breath.

“ _Sorry, Uncle Varric_ ,” she responded in almost sing-song Common, and with one last tender look at Rylen she led the way into the hut.

After the other two had disappeared through the door, Rylen trudged through the melting, muddy snow to see the Thane. His knocks were answered quickly, and Cullen stepped back to let him in.

“I hear we have a visitor,” the Thane greeted.

“Aye, the dwarf Abigeál’s family has traded with for many thaws,” Rylen answered. He looked around the warm hut as he set his sword aside, noticing that it was quiet besides the roaring of the fire. Upon closer inspection he realized he could see Evelyn in the back of the hut with one of the babes in her arms, Aoife and the other babe curled up asleep next to her.

“I can come back,” Rylen offered, not wishing to disturb the domestic peace of the hut.

“It’s fine, please,” Cullen gestured to a spot beside the fire as he said it. “The quiet will be nice for planning.”

They took seats near the fire, and Cullen poured out ale and offered some smoked fish on flatbread made fresh that morning. Rylen gladly accepted and for a time they simply sat discussing the daily tasks of the tribe in hushed tones. Once they had finished their vittles Evelyn pushed herself off the bed, wrapping her usual dark furs around herself as she approached the fire.

“Are you all right, a ghrá geal?” Cullen asked.

“Aye, just hungry, a mhuirnín,” she murmured, and she took a seat while Cullen hurried to make her something to eat. “These babes - they do nothing but eat. I thought Aoife was difficult enough but - I feel like a cow, just - milk, day and night.”

Rylen chuckled, watching as Cullen passed her several flatbreads covered in smoked fish and herbs as well as some ale with a soft assurance that it would help.

“How is Malcolm? I hope his illness went away. I realize I’ve been cooped up in this hut and haven’t spoken with Abi recently,” Evelyn said before taking a large bite of her food as if she was on the brink of starvation.

“Aye, Malcolm’s better,” Rylen assured her. “Abigeál made a tonic for him and his fever and cough both went away quickly after that.”

“A tonic?” Evelyn asked after swallowing. “Did Wynne help her?”

“She said she got the recipe from Wynne, but - they were out of herbs,” Rylen explained. “Luckily Abigeál had them, said she’d been holding on to some to trade in the thaw.”

Evelyn frowned thoughtfully, lowering her food and considering him for a moment. “Which herbs? I know we were low on spindleweed and a few others.”

“I think spindleweed and - witherstalk, a few others, too, perhaps? I saw her making it several times, but I think she used them all on Malcolm,” he answered, though he frowned as well at her curiosity.

Evelyn’s face relaxed from a frown into a neutral stare that masked her thoughts, and she nodded. “Ah - aye, I remember, now - Wynne said we’d run low taking care of the few births and illnesses this winter. I’m happy to hear she had what was needed stored away, that’s quite lucky.”

Rylen nodded absently, agreeing with her assertion and only vaguely curious at her reaction. Perhaps she merely thought it unusual Abigeál had kept some herbs to herself, or was pleased that she had happened to have some when they were desperately needed by Malcolm. Whatever the reason for the shift in her interest in the conversation, which dropped to nothing as she merely ate and stared into the fire, Rylen wasn’t certain. But he certainly wasn’t going to disturb the few moments of peace she was having while her children slept to ask her.

With Evelyn now happily eating and resting, Cullen turned his attention to Rylen and began to discuss the upcoming hunts with him. They went over the scouts’ reports from the area, their supplies, the movements of druffalo herds and rams they had discovered nearby. Evelyn sat for a time listening to them and giving input when she had any, but soon the children began to fuss and she returned to the bed. Aoife awoke and spotted Rylen, and ran over to climb on him, trying to pull herself up on his shoulders. He sat as straight and tall as he could to pose a challenge for her, and continued his business with Cullen.

By the time Rylen was excusing himself from the hut, the pink and orange glow of sunset was casting the buildings and snow in the warmth of its fading light. He made his way through the half-melted snow to their hut, unsurprised to hear Malcolm’s squealing laughter and deep chuckles from the dwarf coming from within. Smiling to himself he opened the door, taking a moment to take in the sight of Malcolm listening intently to something Varric was telling him.

To be more specific, it seemed that Abigeál was translating a story, and both were taking time to see if Malcolm could pick up on some of the words. Varric was patient, slowly repeating words and listening to how the lad said them back before he continued. Abigeál smiled and helped, sipping from a mug of ale as she relaxed, holding Malcolm close in her lap as she frequently did.

As Rylen approached, the lad turned and caught sight of him, and eagerly scrambled to his feet to greet him. “Dadaidh! Uncail Varric is teaching me Common - and telling me about his crossbow, Bee-yank-kah.”

“Bianca,” Varric corrected from beside the fire, yet he smiled all the same.

“Bi-an-ca,” Malcolm repeated slowly. “Can I learn to use a crossbow?”

“Maybe once you can carry one,” Rylen told him.

“Is Aoife awake? I want to tell her I met a dwarf!”

Rylen chuckled and ruffled Malcolm’s thick black hair. “Aye, get on with you, a sheòid.”

Malcolm hurried to grab his furs from beside the door and with an energetic wave of his hand ran out the door to find his friend. Rylen shook his head at the boy’s exuberance and moved to sit beside Abigeál at the fire.

“How was planning with the Thane?” she asked.

“Fine,” he assured her, reaching over to brush some hair that was loose from her braids off of her face. “Evelyn seemed as if she misses you, it’s been a while since you saw one another.”

“Aye, busy taking care of children,” she murmured, staring into the fire as she fiddled with the tankard she held. She shook herself and glanced up at him, offering a smile. “I’ll go speak with her tomorrow.”

Rylen nodded and reached for another mug, filling it with ale from the bottle nearby. After taking a sip he looked to Varric, frowning as he wished he knew more Common so that he could easily converse with their guest. It made him feel lacking, since it was merely a skill as any other - and he never did appreciate feeling useless.

“Varric and I have been discussing trade routes for the thaw,” Abigeál told him, finally breaking the silence. “I didn’t realize there was so much trade in Valehold and the lowlander settlements close by. We always did trade outside of the other holds, Rifthold - tended to keep to its own.”

“Will you be leaving soon?”

“Aye, Varric says as soon as the passes clear I should be able to make it easily,” she replied, and when she glanced at Varric he chuckled.

“ _You two are suoicerp_ ,” the dwarf said, and though Rylen didn’t understand the last word he understood the tone.

Abigeál scoffed and reached over to tap the dwarf’s arm with the back of her hand, even as he merely continued laughing. She rattled off some sort of teasing chastisement in Common, which only made the dwarf laugh harder. When she caught Rylen’s eye she sighed.

“He’s known me since I was a wee lass,” she explained, though her tone sounded petulant and she pursed her lips in a pout.

“ _You and Mackenzie erew syawla a lufdnah_ ,” Varric mused.

Rylen perked up slightly, recognizing the name of her sister in the midst of what the dwarf said - only Abigeál had hardly spoken of her sister at all. A glance her way made Rylen’s heart ache, a sad gleam shining in her dark eyes.

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” Varric added, shaking his head and staring into his cup for a moment before he continued his soft, rapidly muttered Common.

Abigeál shrugged but reached over to briefly squeeze his hand, responding just as quietly. When she looked up at Rylen she saw him watching them carefully and heaved a sigh.

“Your sister, lass?” he ventured, hoping that he wasn’t overstepping.

“Aye, she - she,” Abigeál took a deep breath and reached for the bottle of ale. “She died three thaws ago.”

“Abigeál, I’m - I’m so sorry,” he murmured. He knew it did little to actually help, his words likely sounding as useless as the ones he had heard before. But still, she was his bondmate, and that meant she was his to comfort. “How did it happen? If - if you don’t mind telling me, that is.”

“It was - we were coming back from trading,” she began, as if she couldn’t stop herself from explaining now. “Darkspawn. They surprised us, and we barely managed to fight them off. But Mackenzie, she - she had gotten too close to them. I told her to stay back, she - she didn’t need to be so close. She was a mage, you see. Might have even trained to be the Augur one day, if she’d...”

“Was she injured?” Rylen prompted her when she fell silent.

“The - blood. It’s a sickness, a - a horrible one at that,” she whispered. “Better to be put down than turn into a monster, so - once we realized she was sick and there was nothing we could do, she - she said her goodbyes and my father…”

Rylen allowed the silence this time, accepting that it was too difficult for her to vocalize. It was one thing to die in battle, but another thing entirely to have to be put down like a dog to avoid spreading the Blight or turning into a blasted creature yourself. It was a fate he wouldn’t wish on anyone, and he suddenly realized why she always seemed so melancholy when Malcolm brought up her family. He thought perhaps she just missed them all, wished she could visit - he hadn’t realized that perhaps she wasn’t able to see the one she missed most.

“That must have been horrible, lass,” he finally told her, reaching for her hand and taking it in his. “I take it you two were close?”

“She was my twin, only a few moments older than me,” Abigeál answered, then heaved a sigh. She raised her gaze from the fire and caught Varric watching them once more. With a few murmurs she seemed to relay what they had been talking about.

Varric looked forlorn and shook his head, then frowned between the pair before him. “ _You t’ndah dlot mih_?”

Abigeál shook her head as well, then shrugged. “ _S’ti tsuj litnu txen retniw_ ,” she murmured. “ _I’m not niatrec tahw to kniht_.”

“ _Reven thguoht I’d see eht yad you’d tel enoemos emat you_ ,” Varric commented.

Abigeál sat up straighter and shot the dwarf a glare. “ _S’taht not - not s’tahw gniog no_ ,” she said firmly, seeming to bristle at what the dwarf had said to her.

“ _Emoc no, Abi, you’ve tog a son ni your pal lla yad, your man sessik you erofeb eh sevael your edis_ ,” the dwarf said, gesturing at Rylen as he spoke. “ _You’re nettims, and ylknarf - ssenippah skool doog no you_.”

Abigeál pursed her lips and pouted, but when she glanced at Rylen she caught the frown he was giving the pair. They were talking about him, he could tell, and he wished desperately to know what this lifelong friend of hers had to say about him. With a sigh Abigeál shook her head and fidgeted with the mug she still held loosely in one hand.

“He likes you,” she finally told Rylen. “Thinks this arrangement suits me.”

“Does he?” Rylen asked, slightly surprised. He hadn’t been able to tell from their tones what they were saying, and Abigeál seemed slightly bothered by whatever the dwarf had pointed out to her. This explanation only made him wonder more, but before he could ask the dwarf began to chuckle and asked something else in Common, again with the few words he always seemed to follow “Abi” with.

“What’s that he calls you, lass?” Rylen asked.

Abigeál let out a reluctant giggle and shook her head. “It’s a play on legend-marks,” she explained. “I was always ‘Abi Sassy-Pants,’ and he called Mackenzie ‘Kenzie Sticky-Fingers.’”

Rylen let out a few barks of laughter, taking a sip of his ale before he prompted her to tell him the story with a wave of his hand.

“Because,” she began slowly, dragging out the word before she giggled. “When I met him, I was very young - and I followed and sassed him incessantly while he and boban tried to do business. And Mackenzie kept taking everything of his to look at, when he wasn’t watching. We were wee terrors, but he simply laughed and called us ‘great Avvar princesses.’ So he gave us legend-marks of his own.”

Rylen continued laughing and Abigeál murmured to Varric in Common, relaying what story she had told. The dwarf chuckled before he drained his mug, and he studied Rylen for a moment before he pushed himself to his feet.

“ _I dluohs tel you two - peels_ ,” the dwarf said.

“ _I nac wohs you to sih mother’s tuh_ ,” Abigeál told him, pushing herself to her feet as well.

Varric picked up the large crossbow beside him and for a moment studied Rylen before he patted the unique weapon with a hand, giving him a pointed look. “ _Kool retfa her_ ,” he said, and the words needed no translation to get his meaning across.

Rylen nodded solemnly, patting his chest with a hand to convey how seriously he took the man’s words, even as Abigeál shook her head. She rattled something off in Common before leading their guest from the hut, and Rylen sat staring thoughtfully into the fire as he thought over everything.

The lass had made her own confessions, but now didn’t feel like the right time for his own. He still wished he had handled it all differently, that he had told her sooner, even before she accepted him. But now he felt trapped by that, and just as he hoped to be more to her than comfort for missing her loved ones, he felt certain that if she cared, she would want to feel like more than a replacement herself as well. There would be another time to discuss it, another chance once he was more certain in what the lass was thinking and whether or not this would continue.

After all, if it was only until next winter and she did want to move on after, why should he burden her with this?

His musings were interrupted by the door opening once more, and Abigeál hurried inside and closed it behind her. “I sent Malcolm to your mother’s as well, he was on his way back,” she told him as she shrugged out of her furs.

“I’ll have to give my mother a fresh hide or something to thank her for always letting us have some privacy,” Rylen murmured. He watched her eagerly as he reclined by the fire, noticing the impatience in her movements as she hung her furs and pulled her boots off.

When she continued removing items, stripping out of her hides and shirt, he quirked an eyebrow and drained the rest of his ale so he could set the mug aside. As she bared her skin she turned to face him, a slow smile spreading across her face when she saw just how intently he watched her progress. She stepped lightly across the hut, almost dancing a little as she made her way to the bed, which still bore her bear skin as a trophy.

“Aren’t you coming to bed?” she teased softly, and she threw aside the last article of her clothing before she disappeared under the furs and blankets on the bed.

Rylen had come to love the times she acted this way, the times she was playfully coy, and he decided to give as good as he got. He pushed himself to his feet slowly, stretching as he wandered back to where she sat on the bed, eyes keenly following his every movement. Standing at the foot of the bed he carefully undid every fastening on his hide armor and slid it off his shoulders to toss aside on the floor. With each whispering _thud_ of his clothing hitting the floor he noticed Abigeál seeming more and more agitated, until he was finally down to just his breeches. She threw back the blankets in one swift motion, crawling across the bed to tug at his waist until he knelt on the bed before her.

Her fingers worked quickly at the laces on his breeches and she strained up to kiss him as she did, lips and teeth tugging at him desperately. When she had freed him from his breeches he shifted and slid them off, kicking them aside before he returned to his position kneeling before her. Her fingers closing around his heavy shaft made his breath catch in his throat, and he moaned into the kiss as he crushed her against his chest.

He took a moment to slip his fingers between her legs, parting her folds and exploring her with his touch. As he did she increased the rhythm with which she stroked him, gasping as he spread her wetness over her and rubbed at her pearl. Before long she was encouraging him to sit back on his heels and climbed into his lap, raising her hips to angle herself and take him into her.

A moan like a purr slipped from her throat, a contented sigh following as she closed her eyes and seemed to simply enjoy the way he felt within her. He braced his hands beneath the curves of her rear, lifting and lowering her as she tightened her hold on his shoulders with a moan of his name. She clung to him as she rocked her hips, and he thrust up to meet her, unable to tear his gaze from the perfect sight of pleasure reflected on her face with every movement.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, her lips twisted across his even as she panted and gasped as if struggling to catch her breath. He could tell she was close to falling apart, incredibly familiar by now with the way she clutched at him and rolled her hips as she sought her release. Wrapping an arm around her hips he moved his other hand to the place between her legs, working eagerly to push her over the edge with his touch.

A violent shudder came upon her, and he increased the pace of his thrusts, relishing the way she sobbed his name and arched her neck as she came undone. He followed her a moment later, holding her to him as if he couldn’t get close enough to her in that instant. They both stilled at last, breathing heavily, and he shifted them without separating so that he could lay her on her back.

“Ry,” she sighed, eyelashes still fluttering. She let out a few breathy giggles as he pressed kisses to her neck, keeping himself within her, propped on his elbows so that he could enjoy the feel of her skin on his, the sight of her beneath him. “Ry, Ry - a rún, a rúnsearc. _If ylno you wenk_ …”

Rylen hesitated for only a moment before he continued pressing kisses to her, acting as if he hadn’t understood or heard the words. She had breathed them in such a soft whisper he felt certain she hadn’t meant him to hear, simply murmuring them to herself in this quiet, peaceful bliss. Perhaps she thought she had only thought them, and didn’t realize they had passed her lips as a sigh, spoken into the beauty of this moment, still joined together as one.

A rún, a rúnsearc - aye, that was the word for it. And until that moment, he hadn’t known he wasn’t the only one who thought so. She was still a flighty thing, like a bird he was trying to coax into his hand with offerings of fruit and sweet words. It was best if he let her think her soft confessions had been for her ears alone, though he knew he’d likely be unable to ever forget them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations for the Gaelic:  
> A ghrá geal - my bright love  
> a mhuirnín- my darling  
> a sheòid - my hero, valiant warrior  
> a rún - my love (a secret, mystery one)  
> a rúnsearc - my secret love


	10. The Sixth Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pssssst...
> 
> Hiiii! Hope you enjoy this chapter after quite a leave of absence on my part. Updates might be slow moving forward, I still have a lot of RL stuff going on. But I also have ideas and a fairly decent outline for this, so don't worry. It'll be finished <3
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me!  
> xx,  
> Lara

She wasn't quite certain what she had done wrong, or what she could do now. The few times before when Malcolm had thrown a tantrum, it had been directed at his father, or his father had been nearby to handle it. But Rylen was leading a scouting trip, and she was supposed to be loading up the cart to leave for the day to a settlement to trade.

Instead now she found herself staring at a crying child, with absolutely no idea what to tell him. All she’d done was tell him he'd be at Elinor's for the day until one of them returned. She hadn't expected his reaction to be anything close to this foot-stomping, squalling disaster she was currently staring at, dumbstruck. She knew he hadn’t slept well, plagued again by nightmares and climbing into their bed in the middle of the night. Perhaps he was just tired now.

However, suggesting that he go sleep at Elinor’s did nothing to improve his mood. In fact, he merely cried harder over her words.

“Mal, a chuilein, please,” she chided, resisting the urge to sigh. “You know your dadaidh and I are busy, I need to get going -”

“No!” he screamed, stamping his little foot and pumping his balled fists to emphasize his protest. “I want to go too!”

“You can’t, Malcolm, not today,” she tried to insist over his renewed sobs. “You can stay here and play with Aoife, and your cousins. Didn’t Finley have those toys you liked -”

“I don’t want to!” Malcolm cried again. “I want to go with you!”

“Malcolm, please. I have to get going, and you can’t come with me,” Abi repeated, her voice rising to be heard over him.

She wished Rylen were here, or Elinor, or even Cait or Evelyn. Someone, anyone who could help her calm him down and realize that he couldn’t come with her for the day. It was to be a short trip, just to the nearest settlement and back, trading for a few essentials with a merchant Varric had arranged for her to meet. Taking Malcolm would only slow her down, but she hadn’t been able to get him to understand.

And she had absolutely no idea how to handle the way his face was still screwed up and red as he continued his tantrum.

“Malcolm!” she cried again, frustration giving a harsh edge to her raised voice. “Please, I cannot take you with me, I need to get going. You have to go to your seanmhair’s for the day, or see Aoife, but you can’t -”

It happened in an instant, in such a way that she wasn’t certain how it had happened or even what exactly was happening. One moment Malcolm was squalling on the other side of the bed, and the next there was a flash and spark, flames springing into life between them. Orange and red flickered into being, and it took her a few moments to comprehend that it was the bear pelt that was on fire. She had no idea just how it had caught, considering the nearest brazier was across the hut.

But several moments later, when Malcolm stared wide-eyed at the pelt and let out a terrified squawk, she realized she knew exactly how it had caught fire. Another breath spent staring in shock at the fire spreading across dark, prickly fur, the air filling with the smell of smoke and burnt hair. Then the shock wore off and Abi sprang into action.

There was a pail of water by the door, and Abi hurried to it, solely focused on getting the fire out. The contents of the pail almost completely doused the fire, and the rest she grabbed a nearby blanket to smother. Only a small portion of the pelt had been damaged, black char left where bright flames had been moments before. Abi felt certain if it hadn’t been magefire, the damage wouldn’t have been even as bad as it was.

Once every bit of flame was out, she glanced across the bed to where Malcolm had stood, frozen still. But he was running, sprinting out the door and ignoring her sharp calls to come back. The door slammed behind him and Abi was alone in the stunned silence left in his wake.

Her mind was racing, trying to piece together what had happened. It had seemed a surprise, though she wasn’t certain if that was due to him having kept it a secret or that it had come as a shock to him as well. She hoped it was the latter, that he wouldn’t keep something like his magic to himself. After all, it was something to be valued, cherished and nurtured, not disdained and feared as it was with lowlanders. He was too young to know about that though, and hopefully hadn’t heard wild and made-up stories from the older children.

She thought too about his nightmares, the vivid way his dreams took shape and realized just why they were such trouble for him. Once Mackenzie had come into her magic, Abi remembered what she had said about her dreams, things she had told her, the mentoring their mother had to give her to navigate the Land of Dreams. But they had both been so young when her twin came into her magic that she didn’t remember what it had been like before the fateful day her magic had shown itself.

_Damn it._

Chiding herself for not putting all of the pieces together before now, Abi mulled over what to do. She wished desperately for Rylen to be there to help, to tell, to speak with his son, but he wouldn’t be back until after sundown, and she was meant to be on the road by now. These thoughts brought a sudden wave of bitterness to her as she realized she had been told next to nothing about Malcolm’s mother, and wondered what answers lay with her.

Abi glanced at the stack of goods she had been in the process of gathering for her journey, desperate to get on the road. Another feeling vied for her attention, though, and she realized it was the same feeling she had experienced when Malcolm had been sick. Right now he was likely scared, and upset, and he had set off alone, likely under the impression that she was angry with him. After all, the bear pelt was hers, and he knew its value. Perhaps it wasn’t fear of his magic that had made him flee, but fear of what she may do in response to his accidental actions.

With a groan she turned away from the bed and hurriedly crossed the hut, trying to think where he may have gone. There was no sign of him as she stepped outside and scanned the village, looking for his small form between the others wandering between huts to begin their days now that the thaw was almost upon them. She decided first to try Elinor’s, thinking perhaps he had run to his seanmhair’s for comfort.

As she knocked she opened the door a peek, too impatient to wait for the call for entry. Only Elinor was within, sitting beside the fire and sipping her morning herbal tea. She frowned upon seeing Abi, likely wondering at the wild panic Abi was certain she must be showing on her face.

“Abi? Is something the matter?” Elinor asked as she pushed herself to her feet. “I thought you’d be on the road by now.”

“I - um - something came up. Malcolm isn’t here?” Abi asked, only one foot in the door as she waited for her answer.

“No, I haven’t seen him yet this morning - wait, what's wrong?” She called the last after Abi, but she had already let go of the door and raced away from the hut.

Without any hesitation she hurried to the Thane’s hut, deciding perhaps it made the most sense that he might have sought out his closest friend. She skidded to a halt in front of their door, banging urgently with a gloved fist, but this time she waited for an answer instead of barging in. Heavy footfalls approached and Cullen opened the door, looking slightly more weary and disheveled than normal.

“Abi? How can I help, are you here to see Evel -” he greeted, but she cut him off.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but has Malcolm come to see Aoife?”

“Malcolm? No, I haven’t seen him,” he told her, and he frowned when she swore. “What’s the matter?”

“I - um - well,” she stuttered, not entirely certain how to explain. She felt culpable, guilty for her reaction, ashamed to think that Malcolm might think her angry over something as trivial as the trophy.

“Here, come in,” the Thane offered, stepping back and gesturing a hand in invitation.

“No, I need to find him -”

“Abi?” Evelyn appeared beside Cullen, bouncing one of the twins in her arms. “Are you all right?”

“Malcolm’s - Malcolm’s a mage,” Abi blurted out.

“Oh!” Evelyn exclaimed, smiling brightly and glancing at Cullen, who looked similarly pleased. “That’s wonderful news, but - why do you look so -”

“He ran off. He - he was upset, I was telling him he couldn’t accompany me today to trade, and we were arguing. He started a fire, and I - by the time I got it out, he had run out the door,” Abi explained in a rush.

“I see,” Evelyn murmured. “Have you tried Elinor’s?”

“That was the first place I tried.”

“I’m certain he’ll be fine, he’s likely just surprised,” Evelyn assured her kindly. “Why don’t you come in -”

“No, I need to find him. I’m worried, it’s not like him to disappear,” Abi insisted, shaking her head and placing her hands on her hips as she considered. “What if he ran outside of the village?”

“He’s a smart, strong lad, he’ll take care of himself,” Cullen told her.

But Abi wasn’t reassured. Again her eyes wandered over the village, scouring every shadowy corner and passerby as she debated what she should try next. A small hand tugged at the furs around her waist, and she glanced down, hopeful to see shining brown eyes peering up at her.

Instead she was greeted by pale grey eyes and a gaze that always felt perceptive beyond Aoife’s age. “Malcolm?” she asked in her small voice.

“Have you seen him, Aoife?” her mother asked from the doorway, and Abi realized none of them had noticed Aoife join them.

“No,” the small lass answered, shaking her head. “Maybe he went to The Fort.”

“The Fort?” Abi repeated, at a loss.

“Aye, his fort. In the woods.”

Abi stared at Aoife for a moment, trying to register what she was telling her. “He has a - where is it? Do you know, Aoife?”

“Aye,” the small lass answered.

When she didn’t continue, Abi crouched so that they were the same height. “Aoife, it’s important that you tell me where it is. Can you do that?”

Aoife chewed her lip but nodded. A thoughtful frown came to her brow and she pointed out into the woods. What followed was a quiet babble of words Abi thought she could only understand a few of, and she looked up at Cullen and Evelyn in confusion.

“A tree?” Evelyn asked, and Aoife glanced up at her mother and nodded. Evelyn smiled and met Abi’s gaze as she stood once more. “It sounds like he has a tree he’s fond of climbing.”

“And you’re certain it’s that way?” Abi asked Aoife, and the lass gave a tiny but firm nod.

The slightest relief washed over Abi, realizing she could likely track him easily now that she had a general direction. All that she worried about was finding him before anything else did, since the thaw approaching meant the Avvar weren’t the only ones beginning their hunts anew.

With a quick word of gratitude to the Thane’s family she hurried back to her hut, not wanting to rush out into the woods without her bow and arrows. Once they were slung over her back she made her way through the palisade and into the woods, heading in the direction Aoife had pointed.

After she oriented herself, she finally found a set of small tracks leading further into the forest. They were spaced as if he had been running, and were the only set leading this way away from the settlement. Those facts and their size made her certain they had to belong to Malcolm, and so she followed them deeper into the surrounding woods.

There was a clear enough path between the trees, but she walked carefully, not wanting to trip over any unseen knots or roots covered by the still-deep snow. She was slightly surprised by the steady, even pace that seemed to be set in his tracks, as if he had been confident of his footing and had known the way despite the path being obscured by shimmering white.

Soon she found the trees branching into a shape like one of their many runes, widening as she approached the nearby stream. There was a clearing in this direction if she remembered correctly from the recent scouting trips she had helped Rylen with to prepare for the thaw. The wee tracks seemed to lead in that direction, and she wondered if that was where his “fort” and tree resided.

As the trees thinned she noticed the tracks became closer together, as if he had slowed, and so she did as well. She walked carefully into the clearing, looking around and taking in the surroundings lit by the risen sun. It had to be mid-morning by now, and the rays were reflecting on the snow almost blindingly, so that it took Abi a few moments to adjust.

Blinking and raising a hand to cover her eyes, she studied the clearing and finally spotted a tree near its center. It was gnarled and had low branches, with knots in its trunk and thick branches perfect for climbing and lounging in. Raising her gaze she scanned along it and finally found Malcolm, resting in one of the larger boughs, dangling one foot and swinging it almost sullenly.

Abi’s heart ached as she noticed him wiping his eyes, and she took a deep breath before she made her way forward.

“A chuilein?” she called hesitantly.

Malcolm’s head snapped up and he sniffled, wiping a hand beneath his nose. “How - how did you find me?”

“Aoife told me about your fort, and I followed your tracks,” she explained slowly, deciding honesty was the best choice. “Malcolm, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he answered almost too quickly, but the tone of his voice belied his distress.

“A chuilein - you didn’t give me a chance to say anything -”

“You’re angry with me,” he interrupted sharply.

“No - no! I’m not, I promise, Malcolm,” she hurried to assure him. Hesitantly, she took a few more steps toward the tree. “I was merely surprised, and even for that, I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect it, and it was a fire, I just - wanted to be certain the whole hut didn’t burn down.”

“I destroyed your trophy,” he pointed out morosely. “You hate me now.”

“Malcolm, a chuilein, no, no! You hardly did anything to it, it’s all right. I’m not angry,” she told him, hoping her voice was soothing and kind, that he would believe her. She meant every word but she felt vulnerable, out of her depths, again wishing she had any sort of prior experience in handling this. “Please believe me, I was merely - taken aback.”

“Are you scared of me?” he asked, and his lower lip seemed to quiver and stick out after he asked it. He fidgeted his hands in his lap, avoiding her gaze. “I heard lowlanders are scared of magic, and you like lowlanders, and I -”

“Remember when I told you about my sister, Mackenzie?” she interrupted, taking a few more steps toward him. He barely nodded, and she took it as an encouraging sign to continue. “I forgot to mention that she was a mage. And my mother - she’s the Augur of her clan. I was raised with magic, though I don’t command it myself.”

She waited for him to respond, and though he seemed to perk up slightly he still kept his gaze on his fingers resting in his lap. Taking a deep breath and swallowing, she decided it was best to continue.

“I may appreciate lowlanders and know their ways, but believe me, a chuilein, I do not fear magic,” she assured him. “Will you come down and speak with me? I was thinking - perhaps we could visit Evelyn together, or Wynne, and talk about magic with them. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Malcolm sniffed and seemed to think for a moment, eyes still downcast. “What about your journey to trade?”

“It can wait,” Abi told him. “It wasn’t going to be a big journey, just something to get us started. But in the light of this, in light of you coming into your own - well. It can certainly wait. I want to help you, I want to celebrate today with you. This is wonderful, Malcolm - you’re special. I always knew you were.”

“So you’re - you’re really not mad about the pelt?” he asked, and his voice was hardly more than a hesitant squeak.

Abi’s heart ached, but she shook her head emphatically. “No, not at all. It gives it even more character. Think of it - now it bears the mark of the day you discovered your magic!”

From where she stood, she thought she could make out the tiniest smile coming across the wee lad’s face, and hope blossomed in her chest. She had meant every word, even thinking about the look that would come across Rylen’s face that evening once he was told. In a way she was proud, thinking of what Malcolm might grow up to be; perhaps he would even be the clan’s Augur. The feeling was new, indescribable and filling her with such warmth and elation she wasn’t certain she could contain it.

Only a moment later the feeling was quashed, a heightened dread coming upon her as she heard a low growl from somewhere nearby. Her senses prickled, hearing straining as she turned slowly and closely observed their surroundings.

Malcolm was beginning to climb down the tree, but Abi pulled her bow from her back and held a hand out to him. “Wait!” she cried.

“What?” he called, looking around. She must have sounded angry with him, because one glance at him revealed the same look that had been on his face after the pelt had caught fire.

“Shh, just - stay in the tree,” Abi directed snappishly. She was content to see him follow her directions as she continued to turn in place, looking through the trees that edged the clearing.

The low rumbling finally escalated, and in the shadow of the woods around them she could make out movement. Slow, loping strides brought the pack of wolves into view, moving between the thick trunks and surrounding the clearing in which she and Malcolm sat as easy prey.

Trying her best not to move too quickly, Abi reached a hand to her quiver and pulled an arrow free, lowering it to her bow so that she could nock it with three fingers. Taking a deep breath, she let her gaze roam over the trees, trying to find the weakest target among the pack. Once she had found it she raised her bow and pulled the string back, loosing the arrow as soon as she was certain her aim was deadly.

The arrow whistled through the air before finding its home in the neck of her target, and after one high-pitched yowl and a few staggered steps, the beast fell to the ground. As rapidly as she could, Abi pulled another arrow from her quiver and nocked it while she took aim.

Two wolves darted from the trees, charging her, and over the din of their growls she heard Malcolm’s squeal of fear. All she knew was that she had to protect him, and she released the arrow into one of the wolves’ open mouths. It took a moment to fall, and she reached over her shoulder to ready another arrow - only the other wolf was faster than her.

Before she could get her bow in position, a heavy, snarling body slammed into her. Pain blossomed in her left forearm, sharp stabs of it that preceded the spread of something wet and warm soaking into her furs.

Abi kicked, struggling to push the weight off of her, gritting her teeth against the agony in her arm. Pressing up with all her might she tried to unbalance the wolf, fighting desperately with her feet as she fumbled at the scabbard at her waist. The fingers of her right hand found the dagger there, closing desperately around it so that she could yank it free.

Still pushing with her feet against the snarling beast as it thrashed its head, she raised the dagger as high as she could. In several swift downward thrusts she plunged the dagger again and again, piercing through thick fur and skin. The wolf whined and growled, trying to move away, finally releasing her arm as it tried to avoid her attacks. Its throat exposed as it let go of her, Abi took her chance and slashed with the dagger as swiftly as she could.

Bright red splatters sparkled in the sunlight as the wolf gave one last whine and collapsed to the side. For several moments Abi lay in the snow, and she tried merely to catch her breath, still half-pinned by the wolf. The pain in her arm was intensifying, and she finally allowed herself to look in its direction.

Large punctures from the wolves’ sharp teeth dotted her forearm, and she was bleeding profusely. Yet despite how the wolf had latched on and tried to shake her by where it held her, the arm didn’t seem mangled - instead merely cut, and bleeding, and possibly broken.

“Abi! Abi! Please - Abi,” a thin voice cried out as it came closer, and soon Malcolm was kneeling beside her. His face was white, eyes wide, and his lips were quivering, but he was reaching for her, pushing with all of his wee might at the wolf still atop her. “Abi, are you all right?”

“Aye, I’m - I’m fine,” she assured him, hating that her voice came out muffled and strained because of how she was gritting her teeth against the pain. “You should have waited for me to tell you it was safe -”

“You weren’t moving - I was so scared he’d gotten you. Màmag, are you hurt?”

The word brought tears to her eyes, and she glanced away from him so that he wouldn’t mistake their cause for pain. Slowly she pushed herself up with her uninjured arm, still grasping the bloodied knife tightly. Malcolm stood and reached a hand out to her, but she took a moment and wiped the blade of her dagger clean before she sheathed it once more. Accepting Malcolm’s tiny hand, she did her best not to rely on him too much as she pushed herself to her feet.

“I’ll be fine, but we should get back to the village,” she told him once she was certain she was standing steadily. Abi looked around for her bow, but Malcolm found it first and picked it up. He carefully dusted snow off of it and held it out to her, then watched silently as she struggled to pull it over her back with her uninjured arm.

"Come along,” she said and held out her hand. “Let’s get out of here before more come.”

Malcolm nodded, and she wasn’t certain if it was still fear or caution that made him stay silent, as if he knew they should be quiet to sneak away from the clearing. Either way Abi appreciated the quiet, doing her best to stand straight and focus on their surroundings instead of the way her vision was blurring ever so slightly. When she stumbled a little, she noticed Malcolm give her a sidelong glance, but she did her best to set her jaw and continue.

The walk into the woods hadn’t seemed nearly this long, but then again she had been on her own, swiftly making her way after wee tracks in the snow. Now she was fighting dizziness while scanning the trees on either side of them, hoping there weren’t more wolves nearby. If they were set upon again, she wasn't certain she'd be able to fight them off a second time. The thought spurred her on, helping her gather her strength to resist the darkness tingeing the edges of her sight.

"I'm sorry I ran off," Malcolm said after a long time spent walking in silence.

"It's all right, Mal," she assured him, and even she noticed how weak her voice came out. Each step was taking more effort, the snow and gnarled roots of trees hindering her progress.

"Màmag," he whispered, tugging at her hand. "I hear something - up ahead."

Abi stilled, swaying as she did, and tried to listen intently. Something deep, and a crunch - footsteps, it had to be.

And then a voice.

"Aye, there - footprints. I'll go, it's fine -"

"Allow me to accompany you. Abi was quite worried, it was unlike her."

"Dadaidh! Dadaidh come quick!" Malcolm pulled his hand free from Abi's, hurrying forward a few paces.

Abi tried to call out as well, but her energy flagged. Pain shot through her knees, and it took her a moment to realize she had fallen. A flurry of movement accompanied the thuds of heavy footfalls in the snow, and two broad figures came running toward them.

"Dadaidh! Abi - màmag's hurt! There were wolves!"

"Malcolm - Abigeál? What's wrong?"

Firm hands clasped her shoulders, and a wonderfully familiar face swam before her eyes. She was pulled close, her cheek resting against fur that smelled of him, a worried frown peering down into her face.

"Ry," she whispered, trying to offer him a reassuring smile.

But darkness finally swallowed her.

 

* * *

 

There was prickling warmth beneath her, and a soft, comforting weight resting on top of her. It was pleasant, the blackness that she had been lost in, and she was almost sad to leave it. But nearby she could hear the rumble of voices, deep ones answering one another and the softer, gentler ones that joined them. A higher pitched voice joined in, but it was quickly hushed by the others.

With a quirk of her brows she tried to ascertain what they were saying, but they were mere whispers. Soon they died, and the soft sound of the door opening and closing reached her ears.

Slowly she stretched her legs, noticing what felt like fur beneath her naked skin. Remembering pain, she reached for her left arm, opening her eyes at last. She was wearing a large woolen shirt, and it took her only a moment to recognize it as one of Rylen's. Without a glance around she knew she was in their bed, in their hut, but before she could move further a hand reached for her.

"Easy, lass, easy," Rylen murmured. When she met his gaze she saw such tender concern there that for a moment she was speechless. "You're still likely weak, Abigeál, don't strain yourself."

"I'm - I think I'm fine," she tried to insist. Yet when she began to push herself up, she found that her arm still twinged and she felt weak. Slumping back on the bed, she pouted up at him.

"Aye, stubborn lass," he chided with a soft chuckle. "Please just listen to me and rest. I'm - I've been so worried. After you left Cullen’s he sent someone on horseback to find our hunting party, he said you seemed rather distressed that Malcolm had run off. I’m lucky I wasn't far, and that I found you when I did, considering..."

"How long have I been asleep?" she asked, frowning at the look on his face and the way his voice caught.

"You were in bad shape, lost a lot of blood," he whispered. "Why didn't you tend your wound, or take someone else with you? Malcolm told me what happened, and I can't believe you were so foolhardy as to go alone and not take care of yourself."

His voice was raising in volume, a sharp, chastising glare furrowing his brows. But there was something else underneath the anger, and it took her a moment to recognize it for what it was.

Fear.

"Ry, I didn't think -"

"Aye, that's my point, you didn't think!"

"How was I to know we'd be jumped by wolves? We're fine, Malcolm's safe, isn't he?" She challenged, though she worried perhaps he wasn't and that's why Rylen looked so angry. Her heart leapt into her throat at the thought.

"He's shaken up, but that's not the point. The point is -"

"The point is I saved him from wolves! And I'm fine -"

"You could have died, Abigeál!" Rylen shouted, springing to his feet in his temper.

"I didn't, it was just my arm -"

"You'd bled so much I'm amazed every blasted beast in the forest wasn't following you back to the village -"

"I was trying to get Malcolm back to safety! Gods, Ry, I was protecting him -"

"You nearly died! If I hadn't found you when I did, Abigeál, you might have!"

"Ry, please -"

"Damn it Abigeál! I can't - I cant," but here his voice broke, and he trailed his hand down his chin. "I can't lose you too."

It was the softest confession, barely above a whisper, but Abi heard it clear as day. For a moment she sat simply staring at her bondmate, at a loss for words. He was glaring at the wall, hands on his hips, taking deep breaths as if trying to master himself.

"Ry," she began quietly, and he barely glanced her way. "What do you mean? You can't - lose me _too?"_

For a few moments he seemed to struggle before he sank onto the edge of the bed once more. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you too,” he murmured. Heaving a sigh he stared at the ground as Abi watched him, almost holding her breath as she waited for him to continue.

When he didn’t, she gathered her courage. “Bethany?” she guessed softly.

He looked at her from the corner of his eye, considering for a moment before he nodded. “Aye, about five winters ago now. Malcolm was such a wee thing, only a few moons old,” he began. There was a heaviness in his voice, making him sound weary and Abi realized it was perhaps the first time he had told the tale. He cleared his throat before he continued. “A rival clan attacked, quite suddenly. We hadn’t done anything to provoke them, but their Thane was a mean brute, only caring for his own glory. Cullen and I had heard the stories of other clans razed to the ground, their resources taken as trophies for the man’s own ego. We were a larger clan than the ones he had attacked, with fierce warriors and hunters, and we put up quite the fight.”

Something Evelyn had told her came back to her, remembering the day she had told her of her younger brother’s passing in a “senseless battle.” Instead of saying anything, though, she instinctively reached for Rylen’s hand and took it in hers, squeezing softly to assure him as he continued. He returned the pressure, turning his palm and clasping his fingers with hers.

“Beth fell in battle, the Thane was targeting mages, and Beth was - she was a wonderful mage,” he explained. “But the bastard - he didn’t just kill her, he humiliated her, made a mockery of her death. I couldn’t reach her in time from where I was, and I had to watch as he jeered and brandished her corpse as a trophy. It was dishonorable, and I - I went into a rage, a bloodlust as I never have.”

“It’s understandable,” Abi whispered, but she felt at a loss to say anything else. It was painful to hear him speak of it, but to her surprise it was because watching him recount such pain was hurting her. All she wanted was to hold him, reassure him, and take away the agony of those moments, if only she could.

“I challenged him in front of everyone, just he and I,” Rylen continued. “I didn’t care about anything but getting any sort of justice for such a sweet, soft-hearted lass. She was...even, steady, and we were happy enough. Our time together was almost at its end, and we had been talking about tying knots again, spending more time raising Malcolm together, even if it came to an end a few winters after.”

“I’m so sorry,” Abi told him, and she realized she meant every word.

There was no longer the ugly feeling of wondering if, perhaps, Malcolm’s mother was out in the world, with another clan. That perhaps she would come back one day, and Abi would lose her place beside him, that he might have requested the arrangement as he had because that was his plan. Instead, she found that all she wanted was to take him in her arms, to share his sorrow and allow him the space to grieve, to quell the fear that the attack had apparently reignited in him.

“Mo leannan,” he growled suddenly, and he pulled her roughly against him. She was engulfed in his embrace, her face pressed into the rough woolen shirt he was wearing, and she inhaled deeply to drink in the scent of him. “I meant to tell you sooner, but I didn’t want you to feel second best. What Beth and I had, it was - comfort. It was easy. But you, Abigeál,” he leaned back, cupping her face with a hand so that she had to meet his gaze. “You mean so much to me, there’s - a fire inside you, something so warm and wonderful that I need, almost as much as I need to breathe. When I saw you bleeding there, having fought off beasts to protect my son, I…”

But the words seemed too much for him to say aloud. He held her gaze for a moment longer, a pained look in his piercing blue eyes. And then he leaned forward, lips meeting hers with tenderness that quickly gave way to an intense passion. Abi circled his neck with her arms, clinging to him, hoping that he could tell from her kiss just how she felt in that moment. His words, the sweet name he had called her, and the way he had sounded as he said it all had her heart racing. Even more than it had when standing between his son and wolves.

“I love you, lass,” he breathed against her lips. “It’s all right if you don’t, or if you can’t say it yet. Just stay with me, as long as you want to. I want you to.”

“Ry,” she sighed, but her throat caught on the words she wished desperately to say. Instead she smiled and rested her forehead against his. “Aye, a rún. I’ll stay, just as you want me to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations from the (various) Gaelic:
> 
> seanmhair - grandmother  
> a chuilein - my lad(die)  
> a rún - my love (a secret one)  
> mo leannan - my lover, my sweetheart


	11. The Seventh Moon

In the time that it took Abigeál to heal and regain her strength, the thaw was upon them. Rylen's duties were pressing, yet he ignored them, merely focused on his family.

The injuries and how close he had come to losing her had shaken him, inspiring a possessiveness of her that was new to him. Her arm had been healed, and only pink, puckered scars remained where the wolf had had a hold on her. Yet the blood she had lost took longer to regain, even with healing tonics brought daily by Evelyn. Rylen insisted on keeping her abed while she remained weak, only allowing Evelyn and himself to tend her. If he had his choice he would tend her alone, but he knew she needed more care than he knew how to provide. The idea of letting anyone else tend her, or of leaving her side, was one he wouldn’t even entertain.

Malcolm seemed to feel similarly, as the lad could often be found close by her side. He didn’t seek out Aoife to play as he normally did, instead spending his days sitting by Abigeál’s bed and telling her stories or asking her about her family’s magic.

That his son was a mage was not a surprise to him, as he had expected it from the moment Beth had told him she was with child. The nightmares throughout his son's childhood had prepared Rylen for the truth, merely waiting for the day Malcolm came into his own. Her magic had been a large part of why the match had been made in the first place. Rylen was important to his clan, as Beth was to hers, and the unity and hope of bringing more magic into the tribe had been one of the main reasons they had tied knots together. 

Beth had been a powerful mage as well as a lovely, kind, thoughtful lass - but he hadn’t dreamt of ever finding more in someone else than the comfort he had had with her. A peaceful family life and helping the tribe had been enough for him.

Now he watched as Abigeál spent days snuggling Malcolm to her, telling him stories of MacKenzie and her mother, the Augur, assuring him that his magic was something wonderful to be cherished. Her recovery brought them all together, Rylen and Malcolm both overly protective of her now, unwilling to let her out of their sight.

Malcolm had begun to call her màmag, and the tender look that came into her eyes when she heard the word tugged at feelings deep within Rylen. He had loved her for longer than he realized, but now that he knew just how much he wished for a way to keep her by him always. It was a strange feeling, unknown to him; the idea of wanting permanency something he had never expected. Once he began to accept it, though, he found that the idea of a life with her was more perfect than anything he could imagine.

Yet he knew he wouldn’t try to force her hand and make her stay longer than she wanted.

As soon as she began to regain her strength she often sought him out, coaxing him into bed and assuring him she was well enough for him to take her. Despite himself he couldn’t resist her soft words, and every time she asked him he eagerly buried himself between her legs, making love to her as tenderly as he could. She clung to him almost desperately, softly calling his name as she fell apart beneath him, her hands holding tightly to his hips as he found his own release deep within her.

Each time he parted from her she smiled at him, hugging her knees to her chest as she spoke words of admiration or teased him flirtatiously, as was her wont. She hadn’t said the words, hadn’t confessed herself, and yet sometimes looking at her he almost felt as if she had. There was such a contented, easy peace in her now that he felt his heart swell every time he caught her eye. She would return his smile, lean over for a kiss, and hint that later she wanted him to show her again how much he cared.

He was doomed; he never could refuse the lass, and seeing her smile so brightly when they were in one another’s arms was more than he could have ever dreamed.

Her trading was delayed since she was unfit for travel until she was strong enough to manage it alone. Yet somehow, despite how eager she had been to begin her trading again, she now gave in to his care and seemed in little rush to carry on her travels. Instead she let him tend her and tempted him into their bed every night, only to hold her knees after and stare thoughtfully at the ceiling as she smiled softly to herself.

As she recovered she spent time with Evelyn, helping with the twins and chatting all day, but never telling Rylen of what they spoke. Several days she spent with his mother as well, sipping herbal tea and leaning close as they spoke quietly of matters they didn’t deign to explain.

Rylen would have found it annoying if he hadn’t been so moved by the sight of the lass he loved fitting in so well with other women of his clan. Especially his mother. Whatever confidence they had between them, he was more than willing to let it stay as it was, happy to watch it flourish from afar.

As the days passed Abigeál continued to seek him out, but near the end of the moon she almost flinched away from his caresses against her breasts one evening when he set to worshipping her as he always did. He reassured her and made certain she was all right, only continuing when she assured him she wanted him to.

She began to act as if her strength had returned, and Rylen finally met with Cullen the next day about his duties, no matter how much he wished to remain at her side longer. He had watched her pull a hand drawn map from her bags to study that morning, and knew she was likely intent on returning to her trading at last.

As he returned to their dwelling for the midday meal, he saw Evelyn carefully closing the door behind her. Frowning he hurried forward, hoping that Abigeál had not somehow taken a turn for the worse.

“Evelyn!”

Evelyn jumped slightly at his voice, but turned and ran a hand over her robes as she waited for him to skid to a halt before her. “Rylen, good to see you,” she greeted calmly.

“Is Abigeál all right?”

An odd gleam came into Evelyn’s pale eyes, and for a moment he could have sworn a small smile was tugging at the corners of her lips. Just as quickly it was gone, and she glanced away from him. “Of course,” she told him. “I was just stopping by to say hello.”

And with that, the small lass brushed past Rylen to head in the direction of her hut.

Her assurances did little to calm the way his heart leapt into his throat, and he hurried within to seek out his mate. She was standing near the small fire lit in the center of the cabin, her arms folded as she considered the flames. There was almost a look of happiness on her face, a peaceful calm relaxing her brows and lighting up her dark eyes.

“Abigeál,” he called as he walked within. “Is everything all right?”

At his voice she turned to him, a wide smile breaking across her face. “Of course,” she assured him. “Are you hungry? I was just about to eat a little -”

“Lass, why was Evelyn here? Are you certain you’re feeling well?”

As he crossed to her, she glanced away from him, chewing on her bottom lip. “I am fine, I didn’t mean to worry you,” she answered slowly. “I just needed a - second opinion about something.”

“About returning to your trading? You’ve been doing better -”

“About that and also...um,” she trailed off, then took a deep breath and glanced up at him. For a long moment she merely held his gaze, a tender, almost hesitant look coming into her dark eyes. It compelled him forward, and he took her hands in his to hold between them. The action seemed to steady her, and a soft smile returned to her face. “Ry, I’m - I’m with child. I’m - we’re - going to have a baby.”

The words echoed in his mind as he tried to grasp their meaning, the reality of them, and then an unbidden cry of joy left him as he swept her into his arms. She wrapped her own tightly about his neck, giggling brightly as he held her to him, her face buried in the crook of his neck.

Gently he lowered her once more, realizing he needed to be careful with her, even more than he normally was. As he released her he slipped his hands into her hair, holding her face so that he could peer down into her wide eyes.

“Abigeál,” he murmured, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Lass, you’ve made me - you’ve made me so happy. I’m - I can’t think of what to say. Do you know how long? Are you feeling all right? Can I do anything for you? I -”

“Ry, slow down,” she chided playfully. “I’m - I’m fine, right now. This morning I thought maybe I’d eaten something funny - that’s part of why I asked Evelyn to come by. She had something that helps and also confirmed for me. I’m only just barely with child, Ry.”

“Lass,” he let out a sigh, leaning down to rest his forehead against hers, his smile matching hers. “I can’t even begin to think of the words, I’m - I’m just so happy. Mo leannan, you’ve made me the happiest man.”

Abigeál giggled softly, sliding her hands down his shoulders until they rested on his chest. “I’m happy too, a rún. Truly.”

His lips met hers once more in a soft kiss, though his eagerness soon overtook him. Words couldn’t express everything he was feeling, the news moving him to a joy he felt with every fiber of his being, his deepest desire becoming reality. Abigeál clung to him, responding to his passion as if she felt similarly - which only furthered the way his soul felt as if it was soaring.

Carefully he backed her across the hut, guiding her to their bed. With every ounce of tender regard he laid her back upon it and began to undo her clothes. As his hands wandered over her skin he watched her for her reactions, making certain he didn’t cause her any discomfort. He shed his own clothing and stretched over her, capturing her lips in a searing kiss that lasted what felt like eternity. Until he felt her cheeks wet with tears and pulled away.

“Lass, what’s wrong?”

“I’m - I don’t know,” she answered, and then let out a watery laugh. “I’m just so happy, but I’m - I - I can’t seem to help myself.”

Rylen brushed away her tears, kissing her cheeks and her closed eyelids before he returned his lips to hers. “I love you, Abigeál.”

“I - I…” but she trailed off into a shaky sigh, her hands clinging more tightly to his shoulders as she pulled him down to her once more. “I want you.”

“Aye, mo leannan,” he purred against her lips. “Your wish is my command.”

He took her gently, as slowly as his desire would allow. To his surprise she responded more eagerly than he had expected. Her nails dug into his back as she increased the speed of her hips’ response to his thrusts, desperate cries slipping from her when he became more passionate in kind.

“Ry - I - I -” but she trailed off in another loud moan as she easily fell apart, her legs shaking on either side of him.

In awe he watched as she tried to regain her senses before she continued to roll her hips against him. Her fingers grasped his waves and pulled him down to her for another searing kiss. He lost himself in her passion, in the happiness that had made her cry and cling to him so desperately.

She may not have said the words, but he didn’t doubt that perhaps, in moments such as this, she thought them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations of the Gaelic:
> 
> mo leannan - my lover, my sweetheart  
> a rún - my love (secret, mystery)


	12. The Eighth Moon

Some mornings were better than others, but every morning had one steady, comforting constant: Rylen's tender care.

He always made certain to wake before her, heating water for tea and setting out a small bit of crusty bread. Perhaps he was remembering when Bethany had been pregnant with Malcolm, which only served to make Abi feel a strange sort of regret. It was a feeling she couldn’t describe, and dared not share with him, instead doing her best to quell it whenever she began to feel melancholy. Whatever inspired him to wake her sweetly every morning to see if she was feeling well was fine by her.

Evelyn and Elinor knew the best herbs to help with sickness, teas to drink and tidbits of food that Abi could likely hold down and keep with her at all times. To her surprise she didn't feel as miserable as she thought she would, but part of that she assumed to be her excitement. Most days she felt giddy, enjoying the simple fact that her efforts had been successful.

Hearing those words from Rylen had changed her, and as she recovered all she had been able to think about was how much she had wanted this. She had sought out advice, able to make her requests seem innocent as if she was merely wondering since it appeared to be taking so long. Since coming off the herbs she had expected it, but once Rylen had made his confessions she had actively worked to get with child. If she was going to have anyone’s, she wanted desperately for it to be his.

Her only concern was what this would mean for Malcolm, and she found herself trying to shake an odd sort of guilt that gripped her when she thought of him. Would he think she was taking away from him, or worse yet, replacing him? He had accepted her as his mother, and now she was terrified he would be upset by the idea of a sibling. Some days when she watched him playing she found herself crying over her fears and guilt, far more emotional now with a small life growing within her.

Rylen on the other hand continued in a state of euphoria, and when they weren’t tending to their duties he could be found close by her side. Occasionally he rested his large hand on her stomach, smiling to himself as he asked if he could get her anything to make her more comfortable.

She had returned to trading, staying close and mostly visiting other areas within the Hold or the nearest lowlander settlements. Malcolm continued to express interest in going with her, but she was hesitant to bring him along on her own. When Varric sent word of a small trading market to be found outside a nearby village, though, Abi felt she had found a perfect opportunity.

At dawn one morning she set out with Rylen and Malcolm beside her in the cart, the small child nestled between them on the seat. His wide eyes wandered all along the countryside, taking it all in as he asked eager questions. It was a comfortable, enjoyable ride, though Abi had to stop frequently, annoyed at how often she had to relieve herself. Rylen fussed over her as well, and had packed vittles and waterskins which he offered her almost every chance he got. His concern was both heartwarming and irritating all at once, inspiring tender feelings that made her want to sneak him away for a moment alone while also making her want to roll her eyes as she told him yet again that she was fine.

They finally arrived at the market before midday, and Abi sought out a stall to display the wares she had brought from the tribe. Rylen lingered nearby until she assured him he didn’t need to, and then he reluctantly took Malcolm’s hand in his to take the lad to wander around.

Abi lost herself in her work, hawking her wares and negotiating with those who stopped to look them over. She was back in her element, settling comfortably into the role most familiar to her until she realized how much time had passed. The sun was high in the sky, and soon it would begin to set. Exhaustion crept into her very bones, until she was more weary than she had ever felt in her life.

Hanging a sign on her wares, she rubbed at her aching lower back as she looked around the market. Stalls formed a broad circle around a well and branched off in several directions, manned by lowlanders and Avvar traders alike. She saw no sign of Rylen or Malcolm, and took the waterskin from their cart before she set out to browse the wares and find them.

Furs, cloth, weapons, armor, and food filled the market, and a bustling crowd made its way among the stalls. A tall Avvar with black hair and a beard caught her eye, and she nodded a silent greeting to him as she passed by. At his side was a lass with long, wild brown waves laced with small braids, who wore a tiny babe in a sling across the front of her. Abi fought the sudden impulse to try to peek at the babe, wanting to coo and fuss over it. She forced herself on, looking instead for her family and any wares that they might need.

"Màmag!" The shouted greeting came from ahead, and Malcolm broke free of Rylen's hand to run up to her. "I found a merchant selling toys! Come on, over here!"

He took her hand instead, eagerly pulling her after him as he led her to the stall. Rylen chuckled and followed before placing an arm around her shoulders.

"How are you, lass?" He frowned as he peered down at her.

"Tired," she answered, but she smiled as she walked between them. "Business has been good, I'm just exhausted."

"We can leave if you need," Rylen offered, slowing his pace as he gestured behind them.

"No, I'm fine right now, but thank you, Ry."

Malcolm continued to pull her towards the stall he sought, and when they stopped before it he bounced on the balls of his feet. "Look, màmag, he has a wooden bear! And that looks like a gr- like a griff..."

"A griffon," she gently corrected. Looking over the hand carved figures, Abi pursed her lips as she considered.

"Can I get one?" Malcolm asked, turning a pleading pout up to she and Rylen.

Abi glanced at Rylen and he gave a brief nod, a smile tugging at his lips. "Aye, a chuilein."

"Here, I'll help you," Abi offered. She stepped forward, holding Malcolm's hand as she met the gaze of the trader with a curious smile. "Did you make these yourself, serrah?"

The merchant beamed at her address in Common, and stepped up to the wooden display. "I did. Has one of them caught the young lad's eye?"

Abi nudged Malcolm forward. "Remember what I've taught you, Mal."

"C-can I h-have?" Malcolm tried in his best Common. He pointed at the griffon, and Abi supplied the word for him, which he quickly repeated.

"Oh the griffon!" The merchant continued to beam as he picked up the griffon and examined it. "Yes, one of my finest, I'd say."

Malcolm looked up at Abi, and she smiled at him. "How much?"

For a few moments she and the merchant bartered, and she managed to talk him down with flattery until he was insisting that she must take it for her son. Once she had passed over the coin he bent down and handed it to Malcolm, who took it and cradled it to him with a wide grin.

"What do you say, Malcolm?" she reminded him.

"Thank you!" he squeaked in his best Common, nearly jumping for joy as he began to soar the griffon through the air.

"Aye, come along," Rylen encouraged his son, and he began to lead the way back to their stall.

As they slowly meandered through the crowd, they came once more upon the tall Avvar couple Abi had noticed before. Rylen tensed where he held her hand, but before she could ask a shout of surprise sounded from Malcolm.

"Uncail Garrett!" Malcolm hurried away from them as he called out to the man, who turned at his call.

"Ah! Malcolm! Come here, a bhobain!" The man greeted, and he knelt to accept the young lad as he threw himself into his arms.

Abi glanced at Rylen, noticing a slight frown on his face as he led her to where Malcolm was eagerly babbling as he showed off the new toy he had just purchased. When they stopped before them, the other man stood, playfully ruffling Malcolm's hair as he met Rylen's gaze. For a moment they stared at one another, and then Rylen offered his forearm for the other man to clasp.

"Rylen, fancy seeing you here," the man greeted gruffly. Beside him the Avvar woman with the babe turned, smiling brightly as she looked over the three before her. "I don't believe you've had the chance to meet my mate, Mara."

Rylen nodded a greeting before he placed his hand at Abi's waist to pull her forward. "Aye, and this is my Abigeál," he introduced her.

For a long moment Garrett's eyes wandered over her, and then he nodded a terse greeting. The look in his eyes was more one of curiosity than coldness, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being appraised. This close she could finally see the resemblance between he and Malcolm, only his eyes were a bright blue instead of the warm brown of his nephew.

"Who's that?" Malcolm asked, pointing at the babe stirring in the sling across Mara's chest.

"That, little man, is your cousin - Maurevar," Garrett told him proudly.

Malcolm's eyes went wide, and he carefully stepped closer, straining on his toes to try to get a glimpse of his cousin. Mara knelt and shifted the fabric, revealing a tuft of thick black hair. Tentatively Malcolm reached a hand to the babe's fist, and shook it with a giggle.

"Aye, he's a fine looking babe," Rylen commented, and for the first time since seeing the other man he smiled brightly.

"Just a few moons old but strong as a bear," Garrett boasted. He gave a hearty laugh as he helped Mara stand once more.

"Can I play with him when he gets bigger?" Malcolm asked, glancing between his uncle and his father.

"Aye, if we see you again," Garrett answered. "We were just about to head home, though. Got what we needed and should head back to our hold before the sun sets."

"Aye, we should as well," Rylen agreed, gesturing for Malcolm to come along.

With one last hug from his uncle Malcolm turned away, looking thoughtful as they said farewell. They began to make their way through the crowd once more, and Malcolm took Abi's hand. After several moments he looked up at her, tugging her hand gently.

“Something the matter, a chuilein?” she asked, peering down at him.

“I just,” the lad heaved a deep sigh. “Sometimes I think I’d like a brother. Or maybe a sister. I’d like someone to play with.”

Abi looked to Rylen, noticing the smile he was trying to fight. She took a deep breath, chewing her lip before she decided to ease into it. “You have Aoife and your cousins -”

“It’s not the same,” Malcolm muttered, scuffing his toe in the dirt.

“Well, a chuilein,” Rylen began slowly. “You might not have to wait that long.”

Malcolm turned a curious frown up to his father. “What do you mean?”

“Malcolm,” Abi said, taking another deep breath. “I’m with child.”

As the words sank in the young lad’s eyes lit up, a grin splitting his face. “Really?” he cheered, jumping again as his hold tightened on Abi’s hand.

“Aye, lad,” Rylen assured him. “If all goes well, you’ll have that brother you want by the next thaw.”

Malcolm dissolved into keen laughter and happy babbling, talking about how careful he would be with the new babe until they were strong enough to play with him. His happy chatter continued until they reached their stall, and Abi began to gather her wares to load into the cart with Rylen’s help.

“Oh, are you heading out?”

The voice came from behind her, the address in Common, and Abi glanced over her shoulder. It was a familiar voice, but it wasn’t until she saw fine silk garments and silvering hair that she recognized who it was.

“Oh, Messere Rullus, I didn’t see you here,” she greeted, offering a small smile. “But we are getting ready to leave, unless you had something you were looking to purchase?”

Grey eyes lingered as they wandered over her, and he stepped slightly closer. Nearby Rylen paused in loading a fur into the cart, and she saw a frown on his face as he watched the stranger.

“Ah, unfortunately I’m only selling today,” the man told her, still giving her a charming smile. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. You’ve gotten even lovelier since then, which I didn’t think possible.”

Abi felt the heat creep up her neck and glanced once more at Rylen, who had abandoned his work at the cart to hover close beside her. They were speaking in Common, and she knew he had to be trying to catch what he could. A sudden desire to sink into the ground seized her, but she stood straight and simply nodded.

“Thank you, serrah. It’s good to see business is still going well,” she told him.

“Abi, who are your friends?” he asked, looking over Rylen and Malcolm watching the exchange intently.

Blessed with the opportunity, Abi gave a bright smile and gestured to Rylen. “This is my mate, Rylen, and his son, Malcolm.”

A coldness came into the merchant’s eyes as he looked them over, but he flashed her a smile and the look disappeared as quickly as it came. “A pleasure,” he greeted, but when he was only met by a raised eyebrow from Rylen he returned a sly smirk to Abi. “Suppose the man doesn’t speak Common. And here I was hoping he was just another member of your...tribe.”

Shifting on her feet, she ran a hand over her stomach and considered for a moment. “Well, sorry to disappoint,” she told him. “If you don’t mind, we really do need to be off -”

“No time to spare for an old friend?”

“I - no, there isn’t,” she answered blandly, biting back the retort she longed to say. He was an acquaintance of Varric’s, after all, and it wouldn’t do to anger him. “I wish you well in your trading, serrah.”

With that she turned back to their cart, and though she could feel the man linger as if he wanted to speak with her further, she could tell Rylen had stepped between them. After burying herself in pretending to sort the wares, she finally felt him move on and let out a long, slow breath.

“Who was that, lass?”

“Just a trader who knows Varric,” she answered. It was the truth, after all, and the safest response.

“He seemed rather familiar for just another trader.” The slight growl that came into Rylen’s voice surprised her, and she looked over her shoulder at him. He was glaring at the man’s departing figure, his arms folded, standing straight to emphasize his considerable height.

“It was a long time ago,” she murmured, and resumed packing up their stall.

They began their journey in silence, Malcolm absorbed in playing with his griffon but soon sagging in his seat as exhaustion overtook him. Abi glanced often at Rylen, noticing the way his cheeks flexed, his eyes fixed on the road ahead of them.

She considered him, realizing he seemed to be fighting something almost like jealousy, and she wanted to laugh at the thought. The other man was just as he seemed - another acquaintance she had met in her trading, and with whom she had often done business. In previous years she had indulged his flirtations, flattered that he had often sought her out and charmed her. But every attempt he had ever made to get her alone or possibly ply her for her favor she had avoided, letting it merely remain as it was. A foolish, youthful infatuation.

Wondering how she could begin to explain that to Rylen now, she realized she had an easy solution. “Ry, a rúnsearc, could you please pull off the road?”

He grunted his answer and slowed the cart, pulling up on the reins until the druffalo stopped. In the cart between them Malcolm continued to sleep, and Abi easily slipped off the cart without disturbing him. She circled it and reached for Rylen’s hand. When he merely gave her a curious look in response to the soft tug she gave, she smiled brightly.

“Come here,” she purred.

With a disgruntled huff Rylen tied the reins to the cart and slid from the seat. “Are you all right, Abigeál?”

She didn’t answer, instead taking him by the hand to pull into the brush and trees right beside the road.

“Lass -”

Abi ignored the protest in his tone and pulled him behind a tree, pushing him against it. She pressed her body against his and twined her fingers into his hair to lower him to her. Slowly she moved her lips against his, her heart racing as it always did when they kissed. At first he seemed surprised and hesitant in her embrace, but then he pulled her full against him, twisting his lips on hers to deepen the kiss.

“He was nothing to me,” she murmured against his mouth when she leaned back. Holding his gaze, she traced a finger along the tattooed lines of his chin before sliding her hand to cup his cheek. “He tried his best to woo me, but nothing ever happened. You don’t need to look so sullen about him.”

Immediately he balked, stuttering denials before he fell silent, his eyes boring into hers as if searching for the truth of her words. “Truly, mo leannan?” he murmured.

“Aye, a rúnsearc,” she assured him. “And just now, when he asked who you were, I told him I was yours.”

In answer Rylen captured her lips once more in a searing kiss, holding her to him with evident greediness. “I love you,” he whispered when he released her from the kiss.

“I know,” she answered, bringing his forehead down to rest on hers. “And that is why you shouldn’t ever worry about anyone else.”

He smirked, and pressed a tender kiss to her head before he let her go. “Shall we get back?”

“Aye, in a moment. This wee thing within me is torture on my poor insides.” But she giggled and winked at him as she stepped back, gesturing for him to return to the cart to give her some privacy.

_I love you._

No amount of pretty words or promises of luxuries could compare to that simple declaration, or the happiness she saw in his eyes when he looked at her. Of that she was certain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:
> 
> 1) The slight tension between Hawke and Rylen is due to them belonging to different tribes, and not necessarily the history with Bethany. (Also, shameless inclusion of an Avvar version of my Hawke/Trevelyan pairing from my fic, [Hero Worship](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12590080).) While they may be a part of the same Hold (Valehold) the separation of tribes still makes them very wary of each other. However, Rylen certainly wasn't going to stop Malcolm from saying hello to his uncle just because of that.
> 
> 2) This is this verse's one and only appearance of John, and everything Abigeál said was the truth.
> 
> Translations from the various Gaelic:  
> a chuilein - my lad(die)  
> a bhobain - rascal  
> mo leannan - my lover, my sweetheart  
> A rúnsearc - my secret love


End file.
